


The Place Between Here And There

by Linssikeittomies



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Dom/sub, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not as dark as the tags make it seem i promise, Serial Killers, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, getting better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-02-07 02:13:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 75,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12831129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linssikeittomies/pseuds/Linssikeittomies
Summary: One evening in September, Ivan Braginski runs into the most American man imaginable. The two begin an affair that's difficult to define - it's a love-hate sort of thing where neither can say how serious they are about the other.Ivan is the lead detective in the Baton killer case. He is a man troubled by something in his past, bad with people, and secretive. He thinks one thing and says the other. He rarely speaks of himself.Alfred is a firefighter. He's social, open and oblivious. He most often speaks of himself, and has next to no secrets.While the murders go on, Ivan and Al slowly find love. They start spending more time together and learn to know each other better. This is only a positive experience for Ivan - Al finds many of the things he finds out about his eccentric lover worrying. First of all, there's the way he doesn't seem to care at all about the victims of the serial killer he's trying to catch. Second of all, he has little sympathy towards anyone not his immediate family and Al. Third of all, the murders coincide scarily conveniently with the days Ivan acted oddly.What to do when you suspect your lover of being a serial killer?





	1. Heat Of The Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yippiyay, it's my first published fanfiction! And I'm really proud of this one too, I hope people like it! I'm looking for co-authors for this piece because I know I won't be able to complete it on my own.  
> As a heads-up: there is a sex scene at the end, marked by asterisks, but it's not that graphic. I you're here for spank material, I'm sorry to disappoint:D That said, if you're NOT here for spank material, it's not really about the sex anyway, and kind of important for understanding Russia so you should at least skim it.  
> Edit: I figured what was going on with the duplicating notes, they should be fixed now.

“I juss wanned ta see if it was three gurls, ann instead it was two stunning beauties ann a Hulk!”

These slurred words of wisdom came from the mouth of a blond man with unfocused blue eyes. He had the look of a man coming from his birthday party – somehow proud of a goal that was impossible not to achieve, the glow of having been the sun of everyone’s little world for a few hours, the compulsive need to point out the most obvious things in the world, the miasma of alcohol spilling forth from his lewd, lopsided grin… The very image of self-importance for the duration of his haze, even when he had been ditched by his adoring friends to walk home by himself in the slush. And it was only 8.30 pm.

Well, at least he could still walk unassisted. Ivan’s “protect and serve” was limited to people who wouldn’t embarrass him in public. His sisters, unfortunately, had an unfortunate weakness towards compliments coming from less than ideal sources. Katyusha giggled and Natasha hmphed, but slightly pleased. Now, _Natasha_ he didn’t need to worry about, but he protectively set himself between Katyusha and the drunk man. His older sister attracted enough sober scum, there was no need to let the drunk scum get any ideas.  
But to his utter horror, she started flirting _back!_

“Why, you _Casanova_ , this stunning beauty thanks you. She finds you rather pleasing to the eye as well”, she honest to God _teased_ , leaning forward to wink at that waste of space male model. It took the words a good moment to get through the layers of booze, but when they did, the man blushed deeply and suddenly became much more manageable.

“Oh, umm… thanks. You’re also – I guess I already said that.”

These types of low-lifes were everywhere. Self-centered, dumb individuals with crippling insecurities, seeking courage from a bottle and validation form the fairer sex, and then shitting their pants when a female accidentally looked their way. This particular one was the most pathetic example Ivan had seen in a while. And he saw them a lot. Thanks to his older sister. Who, at the moment, was acting like a perfect stranger.  
“How about you take these two stunning beauties to… maybe eat somewhere?” she said, _rather_ suggestively, pulling her elbows together and placing her hand on her chest to make sure her already impossible to miss bust would not go unappreciated.

“Dear sister”, Ivan instantly objected, in Russian. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Using a whiny tone to keep up the illusion, the sweet, innocent Katyusha reminded her brother that she also came from the Braginski line. “Money’s tight this month. One dinner that he pays for _I_ don’t have to pay for.”

Ah, Ivan really should have concluded that was the reason. It _was_ only yesterday that she had borrowed a hundred from him, promising – as always – to pay back really soon but her gas was cut because she didn’t make the due date and she was so sorry she kept coming to him for help and she’d get a new job for sure and. And and and. Ivan did feel sorry for her, and he did always help out, but she never sharpened up her act. She was just too humble and scatterbrained to make an impression in job interviews, and too gullible and gentle-hearted to leave her current employer because business always _just_ happened to get busy around the times she’d talk about quitting.

With a sigh, Ivan gave in as he always did. Switching back to English, he voiced his terms.

“I am not leaving you two alone with this creep. Either I come along, or he’s going to the drunk tank this second.”

Katyusha disguised her “ _spasibo_ ” as a grumble of objection, Natasha remained coolly passive. But the drunk smiled brightly.

“Okay!”

“I bet my month’s pay that this miserable cretin will try to take us to a McDonald’s”, Natasha remarked sharply, in English, to make sure they would be going somewhere even a _bit_ classier. She was a sophisticated lady, and sophisticated ladies are not seen near fast-food chains.

The man’s look turned so sour that must’ve been his exact plan. He had a wonderfully expressive face, and he was easy to draw a reaction from. He might actually be rather entertaining if given a chance.

“I think The Ladle is still open”, Ivan suggested. It was a rather small place, not terribly cheap or too expensive, so it should satisfy Natasha this once, and wouldn’t plunge the drunk into debt.

_See_ , Ivan could be nice if he wanted to. Katyusha could say anything she wanted, he knew it wasn’t true.

The drunk man, back to artificial bravado exclaimed “Awright, fine by me!” and took a decisive five steps before remembering he had no idea where he was going. “Where to?” he asked nonchalantly, like he hadn’t just embarrassed himself in front of the lady he was looking to score with. Lucky for him, Katyusha needed a free meal so he was just as close to his goal as he had been from the beginning: on a treadmill at the start line. Katyusha took him by the arm, and instantly he went back to _stuttering idiot_.

“A few hundred meters over there”, she helpfully pointed with a patient smile. She discreetly guided him in the right direction, letting him think he lead the way. It would have worked even if he hadn’t been drunk out of his mind: with her beauty and generously endowed figure men often found it difficult to notice anything that wasn’t pointed out to them with flashing arrows. The drunk man was bright red the whole way, but gained back some of his eloquence as they went.

-_-_-_-_-

At the restaurant the drunk man, Alfred Jones, as they had learned on the way, sat down next to Ivan, opposite his sisters, so he could lustily stare at them. Every time his eyes wandered a little too low from Katyusha’s face, Ivan was forced to jab him hard in the side. He could _understand_ , he wasn’t blind after all, but neither was he about to let this creep drool at his sister’s rack, even if she pretended that she wanted him to.

“So you’re Russians?” Jones asked Ivan, thankfully sobering up by the minute. It was annoying enough trying to decipher his mishmash of an accent without the added slur. And he really _could_ be rather entertaining. He let himself react and it showed on every inch of his unblemished face, and his voice never stayed flat or uninteresting. What Ivan found the most interesting, however, was how easy to rile up he was, _and_ how fast he calmed down _._

While his sisters ate, Ivan had a lot of fun giving the American backhanded compliments and watching him try to decide whether to be offended or not. Observe:

“Of course you would. You’re as American as the flag.”

Jones actually rubbed his neck in pleased embarrassment and smiled bashfully.

“As proven”, Ivan smirked. “Only an American would take that as a compliment.”

“Whaz dere to be ashamed about?” Jones proclaimed proudly, hand over heart. “This _is_ the best country in the world after all! Ain’t that why y’all came over here, too?”

_She_ was the reason it was her and because _he_ wasn’t they were here _they were here because he was a mu-_

Forcing himself back to the present in record time Ivan still missed some lined exchanged between Jones and Katyusha. What had she let slip? Outsiders didn’t need to hear about their life. People get _curious_ . Even people like mister Jones can wonder about things. They can _find things out._

Mister Jones forgot to be a gentleman again, and his undignified yelp calmed Ivan down immensely. He was just a deaf imbecil, the truth could hit him in the face with a signed baseball bat and he’d think nothing of it.

Natasha gave Ivan a subtly worried look, which his big brother quickly dismissed because everything was fine, after all. Natasha got to spend extra time with her family, Katyusha got a free meal, and Jones got to live in his delusions.

“But I guess foreign countries have their points, too”, he amended, because not even he was American enough to claim the USA was the only nation on the planet with virtues. With a playful grin he nudged Ivan with his elbow. “Otherwise I wouldn’t get to meet _gorgeous_ people like you.” His eyebrows wiggled with truly impressive cartoon physics, you could almost hear the sound effect. Ivan hadn’t realized real humans even had the physical capability for an expression like that, and he was too dazzled to come up with anything logical to defend his sisters’ honor in time, and Jones opened his mouth again.

“I really like your eyes”, he said, looking Ivan straight in the aforementioned eyes. That happened very rarely, most people found Ivan extremely intimidating because of his height and so took his indifference as hostility, and coupled with his unnervingly child-like high voice they had no idea what to make of him and as a result avoided him with all their power. The people who could be relaxed around him could be counted with one hand - where two fingers were taken up by his sisters. In a way, it almost felt good to add one more person to that count, although Jones’ courage and straight-forwardness may have been partly, or even _mostly_ , thanks to liquor, judging by his slightly reddened face.

”Distracts from the fat”, Jones smirked.

And there went all the good will Ivan for a second had felt towards this personified garbage.

“Quite hypocritical coming from a man half my height weighing the same.”

Jones burst out laughing. He was drunk, after all. He playfully punched Ivan on the arm, claiming he almost reached his shoulder. It was nice, being treated so normally. Usually that cold tone got people cowering and back-pedaling faster than Usain Bolt ran, which admittedly was the reaction Ivan most often was after when he used it. But for the moment he found Jones’ casual affection more interesting and comforting. Even if Ivan hated everything else about mister Alfred “Drunk Man Hitting On His Sisters” Jones, he could appreciate his fearlessness. He couldn’t help cracking a tiny, warm smile. Jones answered with a similar one.

“Hey, say that again!”

“Quite hypocritical coming from someone half my height who still weighs the same? That?”

“Ooh, I _love_ the way you say that!” Jones laughed again, slapping his knee. “Heepoh-crree-tee-cal!” he mimicked Ivan’s accent, adding too much of everything and sounding offensively stereotypical. Ivan wanted to punch the head off his shoulders.

“Hypocritical.”

“Again!”

“Hypocritical.”

“Can we order dessert?” Katyusha interjected. She should have just ordered, since it’s easier to be forgiven than to get permission. And her host was too smitten with her to ever think of denying her anything.

“Yeah, sure, it’s not much of a dinner without dessert.”

“Dinners are usually had during the _day_ ”, Natasha grumbled. She was getting grumpy, must have been sleepy. She kept a regular schedule because she only worked mornings. Waking up every weekday at 5 am for the last two years made her inner clock wake her up at 7 at the latest even on weekends, so by 11 pm she’d be out like a light.

Katyusha promised they’d go after the dessert. “You take the blackberry ice cream with whipped cream so I can have a taste, okay? You can have a bite of my apple pie.”

Natasha reluctantly agreed, so Katyusha flagged down a waiter.

“Isn’t it a little cold to be having ice cream?” Ivan asked. It was nearing winter, and temperatures were dropping close to 0 Celsius. Not really _cold_ , but not ice cream weather anymore. Jones took offense to that.

“It’s _never_ too cold for ice cream! It’s awesome!”

He was so _passionate_ about ice cream. It was like ice cream was his mother, and Ivan had just called her the greatest slut since Catherine.

“Must be why you’re so fat. Can you even lift your own rear off a chair?”

“Hey, I could lift _you_ if I wanted to!”

With a dismissive scoff Ivan told he’d believe it when he saw it. Jones took that as a bet and very smugly commanded Ivan to stand up.

The only ones who _commanded_ Ivan and kept their health intact were Natasha, because she was terrifying, and his boss, because she held his paycheck. Even so, he let it slip this one time, since Super American was about to humiliate himself in front of an audience. A dinner and a show!

Taking a good, measuring look, Jones’ confidence faded a tad.

“Lookin’ atcha now, dis mibbe a challenge even for _me_ , but here goes!”

And Jones rolled up his sleeves, set his right arm at Ivan’s back and the left behind his thighs, and before he could protest, hoisted him up in bridal carry. Startled, Ivan put his arms around Jones’ shoulders. He was stunned into silence. Was Jones secretly a _superhero_ ?! Arms with enough muscle to lift Ivan like it was no big deal could _not_ hide in those sleeves!

Embarrassed and disconcertingly thrilled, Ivan mumbled “Fine, you can put me down now.” He tried to put it down to simply being surprised, but he was bad at fooling himself. He also made the mistake of looking Jones directly. The idiot grinned like mad, and heaven forbid, he was _attractive_ right then. There was more to him than his nationality, for sure. He was quick-witted, confident, fearless, strong, and he didn’t back down from a challenge. He certainly didn’t let Ivan back on the floor, basking in the glory of his achievement and everyone’s admiration.

Katyusha whistled and clapped, which made Jones blush again and _finally_ set Ivan on the floor. They both sat back down quietly.

“I don’t think anyone has done that to Vanya in over two decades!” Katyusha tittered, like the sweet girl she was. You would never think she was 36 years old.

“Oh! That was one a’ dem Russian nicknames, right?”

_One a’ dem_ , honestly? Could he sound more hillbilly if he tried?

“Vanya is a pet name for Ivan, yes”, Katyusha smiled. Her breasts bounced with her giggles, and once again Jones’ eyes wandered a little too low from her face.

“Ow! _Stop_ that! So it’s Vanya for Ivan?”

“Ivan is good enough for _you_.”

Jones stuck out his tongue at Ivan. The childish, idiotic drunk.

“Ivan.”

You’re pronouncing it wrong”, Ivan sighed. You’d think a short name like his would be easy, but it sounded like Jones was trying his hardest and still failed miserably. “It’s _Ivan_.”

“Ivan?”

“No, _listen_ : I-v-a-n.”

“…E-ban?”

Katyusha laughed, and even Natasha almost grinned. Ivan was not amused by having his name turned into a joke.

“The way you said it first is fine”, Katyusha comforted. “My name is pronounced _Yekaterina_ , and the nickname for me is Katyusha. Nataliya is Natasha.”

“I’ve heard those before”, Jones nodded, listening intently. “Id’ just call you girls Katie and Nattie, ‘cause it’s easier.”

“And you would be Alf?”

“Well I use Al but Alf works too I guess. Hey, you know that alien? He was Alf!”

They did, actually. Natasha found him infuriating, as she did many things, Katyusha and Ivan didn’t care. While the girls ate their desserts, Jones started a long lecture about Alf, about the character and the show’s impact on pop culture, then his favorite episodes, and finally shut up when Natasha said she didn’t give a shit about his shitty tastes in shitty shows of shitty American TV.

Actually, the outburst shut up all four. Natasha would go _years_ without a single expletive, because she preferred refined wrath. She was a master of poetic threats, and found simple curses quite crass and unimaginative. Even Natasha herself was looking quite shocked at this uncharacteristic behavior. She cleared her throat and repeated her opinion again, only much more elegantly.

“No need to get grumpy just ‘cause I’m not giving you my undivided attention”, Jones joked, just a bit tense. Odd how Jones was immune to Ivan’s intimidation, but reacted the expected way to Natasha’s, just like the inmates she kept in line.

“Natasha, be nice. This man is treating you to dinner, show him some gratitude”, Ivan reminded her.

His words might not have been the harshest, but his tone sure was. Where had that come from? He simply _did_ _not_ yell at his sisters. They were his whole life – he adored them, he’d never do anything to make them feel bad. Alfred Jones was _nothing_. How could he draw a reaction like this out of Ivan?

...Well, he had a _theory_ , but he wasn’t willing to give it much credit. No, it wasn’t _that_ , it was definitely the _murders_ . _They_ were weighing heavily on Ivan’s mind, and he probably just hadn’t pushed the stress back hard enough. As he shouldn’t, he would be back at work the day after tomorrow. He had to _think_ before returning to duty. He shouldn’t be hanging around with strangers trying to get lucky with his sister, however entertaining they were.

“…But it’s prolly time we all got home”, Jones suggested, seeing Natasha yawn discreetly. She agreed coldly, so Jones got the check, everyone got dressed, and left the restaurant. At the door Katyusha glanced at her brother over her shoulder and quickly whispered something in Jones’ ear, which Ivan did not appreciate. She was acting most strangely. It couldn’t be that she actually _did_ fancy the blubbering idiot? She even gave Jones a friendly pat on the back, making him stumble and fall to the ground. He got up with an abashed grin. So not only was Ivan a little jealous, since the guy was _apparently_ his type, but also pissed because he didn’t like shitfaced trash getting close to his sister.

“Guess I’m not as sober as I thought”, Jones admitted wringing his hands, appropriately ashamed. At least he had an _iota_ of sense in his swollen head.

“Can you make it home?” Katyusha worried, ever the motherly saint.

“Uhh, I think so. I mean, it’s not _that_ far…”

Oh, he was trying to bait Katyusha into walking home with him for sex.

“I really should just throw mister Jones in the drunk tank”, Ivan muttered shaking his head.

“Hey, I’m not _that_ drunk! Just a little wobbly!” And to prove his words, Jones continued to recite “Can you can a can as a canner can can a can?” and “Six sick hicks nick six slick bricks with picks and sticks” mostly fluently. Ivan was not impressed.

“Right. Natasha, can you take Katyusha with you? I have to make sure this _American_ doesn’t black out in a ditch somewhere”, he sneered. _He_ had never been drunk enough to fall over from a simple pat on the back, and Jones became a few degrees less attractive. Natasha threw Jones a poisonous glare, making him shiver, and reluctantly agreed to leave. The girls walked off towards the river, to Katyusha’s home. The men waved them goodbye, and Jones tugged on Ivan’s sleeve.

“That way.”

He was pointing to the general downtown area, but since his home wasn’t “that far”, they wouldn’t be walking all the way there. If his home was any further than 10 minutes away, Ivan would leave him to stumble away on his own. He was the one who decided to get drunk and waltz off on his own – it wouldn’t be Ivan’s fault if he passed out in a puddle and drowned himself.

“So Ivan, where do you live?” Jones asked cheerfully, curiously not very sorry to see his hookup for the night leave, and still pronouncing _Ivan_ wrong. He didn’t want Jones suddenly popping up at his apartment, so he didn’t give an address. He pointed left, to the close by church tower peeking out above the rooftops.

“Around there.” It was actually a twenty minute walk from the church.

Jones tripped over his feet, but managed to stay upright. He laughed and claimed to not usually be like this. Then he slipped his hand around Ivan’s arm for support. He only came up to Ivan’s shoulder.

“Jeez, you really _are_ tall!” he oohed, like it was some news. It was a blessing, but sometimes a curse. Still, only one person had ever asked him if he played basketball, thanks to his non-athletic build. “What are you, 6 foot 7?”

“Could be. 195 cm, I never really got the hang of the American system, where everything is based on some guys various appendages instead of logic.” In reality, Ivan had gotten used to the system years ago. One doesn’t live in a culture for twenty years without picking it up- he was just feeling prickly.

“Don’t be dissin’ our system Ivan, it’s worked perfectly fine for hundreds of years.”

“Must speak of your desperate need to be known as anything else than _just_ fat.”

Jones was most amusing when sputtering for a response.

“Yeah, well- _you’re_ known as communists! That much better?”

“Communism tried to make everyone equal, even if it didn’t work. There’s no shame in that, Jones”, Ivan replied, earning a pout from Jones.

“Hmph. Shameless.”

Ivan snorted and didn’t dignify him with an answer. Jones very pointedly cleared his throat.

“What?”

“You were _supposed_ to say ‘I am’, because I wanted to transition. So: hmph, shameless.”

“… I am.”

And Jones slapped him on the ass, grinned widely, and said “Wanna prove that?”

Ivan tried in vain to stop himself from blushing. How embarrassing, he hadn’t even realized Jones had been after _him_ the whole night! He had been so busy protecting his sisters he had failed to notice Jones mostly talked with _him_ . He was American, so being called Hulk had been a _compliment_ . He was using Ivan’s first name because he wanted to be _closer_.

“I would say you’re the shameless one, inviting perfect strangers into your bed”, Ivan muttered, attempting to collect himself. Ivan Braginski did _not_ blush like a schoolgirl.

“Hey, I’m drunk, remember?” Jones laughed. “I’m allowed to do that. The shameless one is _you_ for accepting.”

The grin on Jones’ lips was at the same time cocky and playful, and Ivan had much trouble avoiding looking at them.

“Who says I’m accepting?”

“Stop fooling yourself. I’m gorgeous and witty.”

Even in his appalling self-importance Jones was attractive. Because he really _was_ gorgeous, and the fact he was completely aware of it was somehow refreshing. He didn’t feel inferior in Ivan’s company, didn’t cower under his gaze, and answered his attacks. Yes, Ivan knew he had accepted the invitation long before it had even been offered.

“In your dreams. Beg me and I will consider.”

“I’ll make _you_ beg! C’mere!” Jones reached up to grab hold of Ivan’s scarf, pulling him down to crush their lips together. Jones was a little clumsy, but Ivan couldn’t claim to be much better due to lack of practice. But it was good, and Ivan realized he was frighteningly close to saying _please_. He was _not_ about to let that happen. Jones was desperate for him, so getting handsy with him would spare them both the humiliation. Forcing his tongue past the other’s lips and gingerly groping his ass elicited a needy moan. Jones pressed himself closer to Ivan and returned the favor with more intent. Ivan chuckled and gently pushed Jones away.

“Let’s continue this inside, I’d hate having to arrest us both for public indecency.”

“You’re a cop?” Jones asked, eyes glazed and lids drooping. Ivan nodded and his partner’s face reddened some more. He took Ivan’s hand and practically dragged the other after him to the warm, messy apartment a few blocks further. They were on each other the second the door closed. Even Ivan was so far gone he almost forgot to be nervous about his body, which was getting a little pudgy. He only felt self-conscious for a little while, since Jones made his wants clearly known. How a toned, tan strongman like him hadn’t gotten any in apparently months, Ivan could not fathom, but he did not complain. He followed Jones down on the bed eagerly. 

****** 

Jones’ hand found Ivan’s bulge easily enough, and paused.

“Dude, why’s everything about you so _huge_?”

Ivan chuckled at the astonished face Jones was making. He made _larger than average_ sound like _titan-sized_. His disbelief was most amusing. Instead of confirming his suspicions with his eyes, he kept feeling it through the fabric, perhaps wishing to find evidence of stuffing? There was none of that. Ivan was all nature.

“Scared you won’t measure up?” Ivan challenged, correctly predicting Jones would take the bait.

“Your commie dick don’t scare me!”

“Why not prove it, you capitalist pig?” Ivan laughed as Jones began prying off his clothes. He was fully naked by the time Ivan had only taken off his coat. He had to appreciate the enthusiasm, but felt like a tease in comparison. Jones didn’t mind at all helping him shed the rest of his layers. His warm hands made quick work of any buttons and zippers, and even quicker pulled all fabric out of the way, springing his sought-after prize free.

Jones stared at the sight in utter disbelief. He was greatly exaggerating of course, while it was impressive for sure, it was completely within human proportions. He gingerly reached his fingers around it, drawing a gasp from Ivan. He saw a hunger awaken in the American’s eyes when he slowly peeled back the foreskin, eyes widened and mouth opening.

“I don’t think my condoms are gonna fit this monster.”

“I’m not touching you without one. Who knows what diseases you carry.”

“Hey, _I’m_ perfectly clean! It’s _you_ I’m gonna get syphilis from!” Jones argued while still greedily eyeing the cock, obviously never intending to let it go to waste even if his whole pack of rubbers broke. “We’ll just… try one, and if it doesn’t fit...” The _we’ll stop_ was implied in words but not in sentiment. Ivan let Jones fetch lube and a condom from his nightstand drawer, and couldn’t claim to be surprised when Jones wanted to put it on him. He couldn’t seem to get enough of the sight.

“Would you look at that, it does fit.”

No shit, Sherlock, a standard condom can fit a whole arm. It’s the cuff that usually causes problems, being less flexible. Truth be told, this one was a bit uncomfortable for Ivan, but since he wasn’t in the habit of carrying his own condoms around for obvious reasons, he made do.

Licking his lips like a dog seeing beef brought to him, Jones gave it a few pumps.

“I’m gonna ride it”, he informed Ivan, and climbed on to his lap. Ivan took the chance to roughly grope his round ass, sinking his fingers into the firm, trained muscle, unyielding and strong, waiting to parted and filled to the brim.

“We’re gonna need some serious lubing”, Jones laughed nervously between kisses.

“Then get to it”, Ivan growled. “I tire of you just talking and never acting.”

Those were the magic words. Jones pouted like a child put to detention and reached for his bottle. Ivan didn’t care to watch what he did – he felt his time was better spent feeling every inch of Jones, taut from the thrill, lathering his neck with attention, braking his sweet skin, holding himself back from doing the things he truly wanted to do to the blond boy at his mercy. Jones didn’t make it easy, offering everything tantalizingly easy, not even stopping to consider that someone might take the invitation… So young, so clueless, completely untainted, all too innocent, he couldn’t even begin to imagine someone might want to break him.

Jones drenched Ivan’s cock in a generous amount of lube, shivering in anticipation, steadying himself on Ivan’s chest while drawing his fingers out of himself, whispering into his ear.

“Try and stay still...”

Carefully, he guided the throbbing member to his entrance, drawing a deep breath and shivering twice as bad as before. Decisively, he lowered himself until just the tip had entered, and moaned like a wanton whore, throwing back his head and knotting his fingers into Ivan’s hair, drawing him back to his neck. Taking his time to adjust, Jones pushed downwards with a tortuously slow speed.

“Ooooohhhh Goooood...” he panted, only halfway there. Ivan used all of his iron will to keep his hands on Jones’ back, the itch to raise them higher up to his neck almost unbearable when he hard the soft cursing that managed to escape his lips between his heavy pants. He had to do something quick, turn it into a competition to light his spirit again so he wouldn’t stay so temptingly fragile, stop him from giving any more incentive than necessary...

“Too weak to take it all, mister Jones?” he mocked without any intent to offend the man who took it as the ultimate affront. He rocked a little to help himself accommodate the foreign trunk invading him, the action making his eyes flutter shut and a quiet _fuuuuuuckkk_ to escape his throat.

“ _Bite me_ , Bragsy, or whatever your stupid name was-”, he hissed between his teeth as he took more of Ivan inside him, “and talk dirty to me, baby.”

Instead of complying right away, Ivan had to laugh again. Alfred was so wonderful, he could take anything Ivan threw his way and add his own! He was in no danger here at all, more likely the one to take damage would be Ivan himself!

“Why, you think it will help? That your asshole will suddenly grow three sizes and magically fit my big, fat cock? I’m gonna rip your tight ass with my cock, you know, I’ll take you doggy style with your juicy ass up in the air and listen to you beg, _potaskuha,_ _ya sobirayus trakhat tvoyu zadnitsu_ _i_ _ty nichiego ne mozhesh s etim podelat-”_

Alfred thrust his tongue in Ivan’s mouth like his life depended on it and fell backwards, dragging Ivan down with him, letting himself be fucked into surrender by having total control over the whole situation, knowing just how to disguise his power as subservience, taking everything that was offered and then some, it was a bloodless slaughter where the victim was the butcher. 

***** 

They lay on the bed, letting their breaths even, Alfred’s ankle forgotten in Ivan’s palm, a faint bruise already forming on the tan skin. He had downright demanded rough treatment, which Ivan had been all too happy to provide. The only places he hadn’t allowed bruising in were his face and neck, because he didn’t want to explain them at work. Tomorrow his waist and thighs would be riddled with fingerprints.

Ivan felt himself dozing off, so he made to get up and get dressed to catch some sleep at home, but Alfred caught his arm as he rolled away and wouldn’t let him.

“C’mon, stay a while”, he whined tiredly, the afterglow of orgasm making it difficult for him to stay awake and appropriately distant. Who asks a stranger to stay the night? Ivan would never understand this man. But because he was feeling generous, he settled back down and even let Alfred wrap an arm around him. Ivan wasn’t much of cuddler, and only partly because he didn’t get many opportunities. But right that moment the parts of him that craved affection were on the surface, so he even debated reciprocating the gesture. It took a while, but he reached a conclusion and they fell asleep dirty, sweaty, and tangled together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason I transliterate the Cyrillic text is because I find it really annoying when a text suddenly has letters I can’t read. Like, there I am reading this English language fic and understanding everything and really immersing suddenly there’s 3 kanjis, what the fuck man? I don’t fucking know what sounds those produce! Transliterating distracts less from the immersion, I think, but I also like to know how things are written in their own language.
> 
> _Potaskuha(потаскуха): slut_  
>  Ya sobirayus trakhat tvoyu zadnitsu I ty nichiego ne mozhesh s etim podelat(Я сoбираюсь трахать твoю задницу и ты ничегo не мoжешь с этим пoделть, сука): I’m going to fuck your ass and you can do nothing about it, bitch. Or at least that’s what google translate gave me, I hope it doesn’t sound too awkward to native speakers:D If you have a better line for the sentiment let me know and I’ll fix it.
> 
> Chapter name comes from Heat of the moment by Asia.


	2. Ship Of Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, Alfred is so hard to write! His POVs are all Thing happens, thing happens, thing happens, he has a thought, thing happens… Ivan’s POV is more like Thing happens, he has a thought about the thing, that reminds him of past thing, thing happens… And Alfred has too many non-plot-important friends, but leaving them out feels even more wrong because he’s a people person first and foremost. He does get more thinkey later, but at this point of the story he doesn’t really worry about anything so he doesn’t have too many thoughts floating around his brain. His parts feel like such filler orz Try and bear with me orz I got so sick of looking at this mess and not being able to write it the way I wanted to so I decided to screw it and let it be, filler-y and bad and all.

“Morning, sunshine!” a happy voice greeted Ivan right as he stirred. The grating cheeriness revealed the identity of the perpetrator before Ivan even opened his eyes. The act only confirmed that the annoying idiot was grinning from ear to ear. Seeing that his bedmate was somewhat awake encouraged the American to rise up on his elbows to peer down with an excited look. So he was near-sighted, since he hadn’t put on his glasses.

“ _D_ _obro_ _ye_ _utro_ ”, Ivan muttered, not sure if he was glad to see Alfred or not. The novelty of being treated like a normal human being was fading quickly now that he wasn’t allowed to wake up at his own pace.

“Are you really a cop?” Alfred queried with badly contained glee, leaning in closer with his morning breath. With a grimace Ivan turned his head slightly, and Alfred seemed to get the hint.

“Yes, a detective.”

“Man, that’s so cool! I applied to the academy a few years back, but I had speeding tickets, and the air force didn’t want me for some reason so I’m still-“

Probably a store clerk. Maybe a cleaner. Likely living on his parents’ money.

“- a fireman and it’s great ‘cause I’m saving lives and all, but man, _cops!_ I _love_ cops!”

Yeah, _right_ . This infuriating loser seemed barely literate. Pro wrestling would suit him much better: prancing around in embarrassing clothes yelling cringey lines, and no one would notice if he got brain damage. Claiming he actually did _important_ work was the most bold-faced lie Ivan had heard in his life.

“But how in the hell did _you_ get in? Did you kill all the other applicants?”

“How rude. I was never linked to those cases.”

Alfred pretended to be struck dumb, and clutched his pearls like a scandalized granny.

“I was hoping you’d claim to be the paragon of justice, but you just _ran_ with it! How am I supposed to make fun of you with that attitude?” he laughed as he sat up, dragging the covers up with him and then letting them fall off his shoulders. The move revealed his toned chest and subtle six-pack again. Ivan contemplated taking a spied look between his legs, but decided against it. His senses were returning slowly, but the insecurity had already creeped in almost full swing. He pretended to be cold and wrapped the covers more tightly around him.

“It’s not an attitude. It’s the truth.”

Alfred laughed and told Ivan to dress his ugly ass, he was making pancakes. Ivan was not one to say no to a free meal, and the company only left something to desire.

-_-_-_-_-

Even if waking up next to someone was a questionable joy, having someone to eat breakfast with was undoubtedly pleasant. Much time had passed since the last time Ivan had a discussion at the table. They used to be common in the old days, and the siblings especially had been practically glued together, but then _the thing_ happened and everything went to hell. Their family dynamics never got back to normal, even after 19 years of stability and moving halfway across the globe. It had no longer felt natural – one was missing and one became an outsider. It was almost more distracting to have his sisters in the same table than eating alone. But with Alfred there was no history so he couldn’t be reminded of anything, and as a result he found himself genuinely enjoying the moment.

“Well, ya just don’t look the part, yannow? Think Magnum PI! Ya need a square jaw and a cool baritone voice and a great moustache.”

“So what kind of cop _do_ I look like?”

“Hmmmm…” Alfred hummed and held an exaggeratedly long pause, took a bite off his pancakes, chewed and then shrugged. “I dunno, the kind who negs decent people and takes advantage of drunk guys?”

Ivan shrugged nonchalantly. “Guilty as charged”, he agreed. He doubted Alfred had actually been all that drunk by the time they left the restaurant, and the stumble had been a conspiracy to make Ivan take him home. He still had trouble imagining Katyushka scheming like this, because she had always been the most honest and straightforward of the family. Her saintly nature must have come from a distant ancestor.

“So are you gonna go and brag to all your friends about how you finally scored with a conscious person?”

“I hesitate to call someone with your level of brain activity conscious.”

“But you _will_ brag to all your friends?”

“I don’t have friends”, Ivan’s mouth said with brutal honesty before his brain could shut it up. His breath got stuck in his throat as he waited for inevitable pitying look. It _always_ happened. He could be as terrifying as he wanted, the second anyone learned about his sorry excuse of a social life they suddenly saw him a charity case, defective, helpless… Nothing could be further from the truth, but nothing would convince the hypocrites that Ivan didn’t _need_ anyone, people were only in the way, and he didn’t care for backstabbing gold diggers or emotional leeches. Jones was a person, Ivan had no use for him.

God spared him just this once. Alfred, oblivious to anything but a jackhammer to the skull, missed his slip completely and continued with the friendly hostility.

“Small wonder, with your personality.”

Ivan was well aware of his flaws, but could do nothing to change them. His path had formed in front him on its own on that day and there were no side roads. He wasn’t like Jones, who had a say in what happened to him. He had no business commenting on what he knew nothing about, but spoken like a true American, he felt the need to police everyone else and just flap his mouth hole to make noise for the sake of it. And he had such a grating voice, too. Ivan wanted to get out of this apartment _yesterday_.

“More coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Watching Jones stuff his face with pancakes made Ivan wonder what he even found appealing about the glutton at this point. He was a slob with terrible table manners who loved putting people down. That answered the question of why he hadn’t gotten laid in ages, at least. He should get drunk more often, it seemed to better his odds.

“Do you have the day off?” Ivan asked. He almost regretted it, since Jones didn’t bother swallowing his half-eaten pancakes, choosing instead to spit soggy crumbs all over the table. Ivan quickly lifted his coffee off it. Jones failed to take the hint, as expected.

“Yeah, but my cousin’s coming over. I’ll have to kick you out by noon.”

Ivan hadn’t been planning to stay after breakfast. He hadn’t planned to stay the _night_. Having to leave in a few hours was no problem for him. And even if he had been free to stay as long as he wanted, which was not a single minute by the way, he was a busy man. He had things to do. Plans to review. He wouldn’t stay even if Jones begged to blow him.

“I’ll be gone before that.”

Jones smirked coyly, for reasons unknown to Ivan.

“Do you wear the uniform?”

Ah, he was one who loved a man in uniform. Ivan could hardly blame him, he himself couldn’t resist a suit with a tie. Wonderful toys they were, so versatile, never failed to make him want to pull. He’d like to put one on Jones, for _so_ many reasons.

“Only for special occasions.”

Ivan would have liked to have a newspaper at the table. The absence of one didn’t exactly surprise Ivan, Jones didn’t strike him as the type to read, even magazines. It was excusable – in his line of work it wasn’t important to know what had went on during the night. For Ivan, it was both a necessary evil and a questionable joy. Not knowing the latest updates when he walked into the office was considered bad work morale, and that’s where news apps really came in handy. A newspaper, after all, first had to go into print, and then be delivered. While all that happened, ten new things had unfolded. It was still nice to have a physical page in his hands, feel the crinkle. They were easily stored. Ivan had a whole bookcase dedicated to newspaper and magazine clippings: cold cases, cases he’d worked on, PD bashings, survival stories, true crime articles… Lately he had taken to throwing out some of the older things to make room for all the Baton killer related articles. 7 confirmed victims, 5 suspected, and that was only after a year and half of activity. Despite what you heard in popular media, it was actually quite rare for a serial killer to have more than 4 victims per year. Reporters liked to play up the numbers, speculating at least a dozen victims, but even more than that they liked blaming the police department for not catching the raving lunatic. Their words, not his – from the evidence and bodies it was clear as day the Baton killer was not crazy. Yes, he never bothered hiding the bodies well, but there was never any evidence left. Every body was cleaned thoroughly after the act to dispose of any DNA evidence, there was never a glimpse of him in security footage, no one ever reported seeing someone who didn’t belong… It takes meticulous planning and a clear mind to do something that carefully. The police weren’t even completely sure they were dealing with a male killer – the only reason to suspect that was that among the victims were two large men who had last been seen in gay bars, and an unopened condom left on the body of one female who had been reported to be fiercely faithful to her clean husband.

Ivan didn’t like not knowing things. He got anxious when he couldn’t be sure. It should have been common courtesy to have one paper at the table.

“A suit, then?”

Ivan shook his head. He preferred wearing his everyday clothes to work, because they made him look just a bit less intimidating. A suit was a double-edged sword: on one hand, it tended to make people more nervous and slip up, but on the other, it isolated him further. Normal human interactions were few and far between for Ivan, so he cherished every single one. This was why he liked dealing with the the deaf: they couldn’t tell the disparity between his voice and stature, so they assumed he was just a normal, large man. In this Alfred resembled them. The bad thing about Jones was that he was _insufferable_. Ivan had a hunch Jones would be difficult with the authorities, just for the sake of being difficult.

“Betcha you’d look hot in one”, Alfred said, winking.

Ivan didn’t agree. He didn’t think he looked hot in most clothes. He still muttered a thank you because he wasn’t on the mood to argue.

~¨:.:¨~

Jeez, this guy was just _too cute!_ No adult man should be allowed to have such an _adorable_ face! The way he shyly blushed and averted his eyes to the side combined with his huge stature did something incredibly pleasant to Al. It was getting the best of two worlds. He tended to go for the big, tough guys, but enjoyed the odd twink every now and then, and here he had two for the price of one! Moving to the big city really was the best damn decision he had made in his life. Rural Kentucky just didn’t have these types.

“Unlike you, no doubt”, Ivan answered weakly, and Al grinned again. He couldn’t explain why he liked exchanging insults so much. He did it all the time with Arthur, too, but the Brit always got pissed too quickly.

Mattie’s game was too strong, so Al no longer did it with him.

But now he had a new playmate! One that liked the game just as much! He hadn’t had this much fun since last night, and with any luck he might be able to convince the Russian babe for round two of _that_ , as well! Maybe one day he could bring the insult game to bed?

“Yeah, but I look good _naked_ ”, Al shot back. Ivan rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee again.

“You get cross-eyed when you take off your glasses.”

“Do _not_! Take that back, fatso!”

With a teasing smile Ivan raised his gun again. “ _And_ you smell terrible. Have you showered in the last three days?”

“Didn’t bother you last night.”

“I had a momentary lapse of standards. The culture must be damaging my brain.”

Aaahhh, that _accent_ ! That was p aradise, right there! Ivan really had everything: looks, personality, huge body, huge _dick_ … He should marry the guy before he wriggled away. The way to a man’s heart goes through his stomach, right?

“Sure you don’t want pancakes?” Alfred confirmed. He was almost offended Ivan had refused them the first time. While his weren’t as divine as Mattie’s, they could still make a man moan in pleasure. Pancakes were the one food he _never_ made from instant mix or in a microwave.

“I am sure.”

Al pouted and poured some more syrup on his stack. Fine, be that way!Vodka had probably ruined his tastebuds anyway, so he couldn’t appreciate the pancakes if he wanted to.

Ivan gulped down the last of his coffee and got up.

“Leaving already?”

“I have work. Thank you for the coffee.” Work on Sunday? What kind of breakthrough had they had in whatever case Ivan was working on? Detectives usually only worked weekdays 9 to 5.

“No prob. See ya ‘round!”

Ivan scoffed as he put on his coat. He was wearing three layers, and it wasn’t even that cold yet. Guess he was just always cold, if he needed two sweaters even indoors.

“No one would want to see you again. You are a headache on feet.”

Al laughed. A lot of people commented on his loud voice, usually telling him to turn it down a notch. He just didn’t have an indoor voice and he got excited so easily.

“And my ears are ringing from listening to you squeaking”, he joked back. He wondered why Ivan decided to use such a weird voice. Obviously he had a much deeper natural pitch, but it hadn’t come out much even last night. He sounded like a prepubescent boy. It added to his cute image, but couldn’t have been easy to produce. Maybe it was an effect of growing up with two high-pitched sisters?

“Are you the youngest?”

“The youngest what?” Ivan asked, voice muffled from the pale pink scarf. Another cute quirk, didn’t fit his towering height and wide shoulders at all.

“Sibling. Katie’s the oldest, right?”

“Yes. Katyusha is four years older and Natasha is five years younger.”

“Really? You and Natalie look the same age. Do you look young or does she look old?”

“It could be a little bit of both.”

Ivan had his hand on the knob, but hesitated. Al tilted his head questioningly, and Ivan reached a decision. He dug out a pen from his pocket, but couldn’t find paper, so he wrote his number on the wall instead.

“Call me if you want to go drinking sometime.”

“After you ruin my fucking wall?! In your _dreams_!”

Ivan gave an infuriating little smirk and closed the door after him.

Damn that Russki and his adorable ways. How long should Al wait before he called? The same day would be needy and a little creepy, but he didn’t want to wait two days! Agh, this was just like that one time in Montana! Or, Christ, _Tex_! He couldn’t handle another bi-curious cutie deciding he wanted to stick to women! The guy was just too much fun, Al really liked just hanging out with him, not that he minded the afterhours, either…

After wolfing down his seventh pancake Al did his morning pushups and jog. Artie had been right in that age would eventually catch up with him and he’d need to work harder to stay in shape. With his steady diet of junk food it was really a miracle he was so fit. Musta been good genes. Pissed Artie off to no end. Speaking of, he should clean up the place. Neither of them was looking forward to Mister Cleanliness nagging about Al’s housekeeping skills. It didn’t really even matter, no one in the history in the world had died of a few shirts on the floor, or a few weeks’ dust, or a messy closet, and penicillin had been _discovered_ in dirty dishes. And so what if there was some food gone bad in the fridge, they were in closed containers, the bugs weren’t about to strongarm open the lids.

Ehh, Artie was still three hours away, he had time. He could play some Mortal Kombat first. He needed to practice Kenshi’s fatalities anyway. And while he was on the sofa anyway, he might as well try out that GTA swing glitch! Oldie but goodie.

-_-_-_-_-

Knock knock.

“Who’s there?”

Just kidding, Al already knew it was Artie. His British cousin was the only person in the world who knocked when there was a perfectly good doorbell.

“It’s me.”

“Me who?”

“Arthur, you bloody twat! Open up!”

Sigh, ol’ Artie never played along. All he laughed at was that Monty Python show. Poor guy, he’d die an early death thanks to never laughing. Al threw the controller on the couch and got up to get the door.

Yikes, those eyebrows were still a shock _every_ time.

“I swear you grow like twenty new hairs every time I see you!” Al commented, earning an irritated sigh from his cousin. After 17 years he didn’t need to ask what Al meant by that.

“And you accumulate more and trash in your place. _Three_ copies of Die Hard 2?” Artie whined looking at the living room table. Well, at least he wasn’t bitching about the dirty coffee cups and plates on the kitchen table. He should be a maid, he was so great at whining about pointless stuff.

After setting his luggage in a corner, Artie made a show of placing the Xbox controller on the coffee table and making himself at home on the couch, dramatically throwing an arm over his face.

“ _Never_ again!” he announced. “This baby screamed the whole flight and my neighbour spilled his orange juice all over my trousers.”

Seeing Al eyeing his perfectly dry pants, he explained. “I changed in the airport toilet.”

“Wanna throw them in the washing machine?”

“Go ahead.”

Artie’s suitcases were works of art. He knew just the way to tightroll everything and exactly how much of any given thing was needed, then filled every square inch so perfectly it looked like a Tetris high score.

Speaking of Tetris!

“Hey, Artie! Guess who scored with a cop last night?”

“Alfred, _please_! I don’t want to hear about your sex life!”

“But he was so _great_! So tall and cool and burly and cute! And I got his number!”

Artie gave him a confused look from under his arm.

“Burly and cute? That’s a combination you don’t hear often.”

“I know! But it was _awesome_! God, I wish I had a photo to show you, he was just _perfect_! He’s a detective!”

Artie lifted his feet off the couch to let Al plop down next to him.

“He acted all cool and aloof and then blushed when I said he’d look hot in a suit! It was _adorable_!”

Al knew he was gushing like a teenage girl about her latest celebrity crush but he couldn’t _help_ it! This was the single greatest thing that had happened to him since… since he first got laid, basically! “And he’s a _cop_! I’ve never seen a cop like him! He wrote his number on the wall”, Al helpfully pointed at the number scratched on the wall paper. The wince on Artie’s face was great.

“You two seem like you would get along swell”, he muttered.

“I know! He’s not at all uptight like you are!”

“It’s called being a functioning adult! You git!”

“A functioning adult would have brought me Cadbury creme eggs!”

“The last time I did you thought I was flirting with you!”

Oh right, it had been the day before Valentine’s and Artie had been blushing for some reason.

-_-_-_-_-

They cleaned up the place together. Artie tried to cook “as a reward”, which would have been about as much of a reward as a death penalty. Al insisted he wouldn’t make a guest cook, so they went out for dinner, even though Artie hardly counted as a guest. He was rarely over, thanks to the ocean between them, but the guy was as much family as Mattie. Every time he stayed at Al’s place it was like a roommate coming home. Artie didn’t buy the excuse, as he never did, and claimed Al needed a good English dinner in him just once and would never go back, as he always did. This was routine for them. Everything about Artie was familiar. He had gone through a few phases in his teens and early twenties, but ever since becoming a premature grandpa the only thing that changed were his clothes. He was as stagnant as Mattie.

“You gonna go see Mattie after dropping by our folks?”

“I don’t have time”, Artie said. “I only have three days left and I couldn’t get a ticket. I’ll see him on Christmas.”

It was something of a tradition for the whole extended family to gather at Mattie’s place on Christmas, since he was one of the few who didn’t switch apartments every year. Not everyone could make it at the same time, some stayed for a few days before Christmas and some dropped in to say hi on Christmas Day. Al always stayed in the guest room, but the sheer number of relatives forced the large majority to stay in hotels. Artie got a mattress on the floor the years his pervert husband stayed home. They had learned from the first time.

“Francis is still working out his schedule so I’m not sure if he can make it.”

“Good! He’s already got a hubby, he shouldn’t hit on Mattie!”

Francis was an okay guy most of the time, but you better not let your guard down or you’d find his hands down your pants. How Artie hadn’t dumped his cheating ass was something Al would never understand. If _he_ ever started going steady, he wouldn’t forgive a single stray ogle. Luckily Ivan didn’t seem like the type to cheat, since it had taken him so long to even realize Al had been hitting on him from the first sentence he had said to him. It didn’t look like the guy had much of a sex drive.

“And he better stay the hell away from my date, too!”

“Your date? Weren’t you single just a few hours ago?”

“I’m talking about that cop!”

Artie made a face, but Al couldn’t figure out what he had said wrong this time.

“Al, you only met the guy _yesterday_ , and now you’re bringing him to Canada for Christmas?”

“No! I mean, I _could_ , I think we really clicked and I’m of course awesome so he totally wouldn’t say no.”

Another _face_ , more concerned than exasperated this time.

“Oh come on Artie, be a little more happy for me wontcha?”

“I _am_ , it’s just that – you’ve been hurt before, because you get so into it far too early.”

Right, _Tex_. But this was _different_ from Tex! Ivan was completely comfortable being with men! He wouldn’t pull th e same “incompatible” stunt _he_ had! Ivan and Al went so well together, they liked the same things, they understood each other, and talking was so easy between them. Talking with Tex had sometimes been like pulling teeth.

“I’ll be fine! I’m a grown man! And it’s just for fun – I just meant I wouldn’t object to getting serious if he wants to.”

“Well – good luck”, Artie muttered.

“Thanks!”

-_-_-_-_-

The next morning Al woke up to a horrible smell drifting from the kitchen. Not the worst Artie had ever caused, but it still made his eyes water. The sentiment was nice, but Artie just didn’t get that his breakfast would be put to better use in torture chambers. They did the usual song and dance – Artie claiming his cooking was great and Al just didn’t understand the fine undertones of British cuisine, and Al dumping his portion in the garbage and frying a healthy dose of bacon. Then they went sightseeing, since this was Artie’s first time in this city – the last time he had been living in Waynesburg. He’d leave tomorrow while Al was at work, so they had to make the day nice, since they would next see each other on Christmas. Granted, they talked daily but it still felt important to part on friendly terms. The one time they _hadn’t_ , Artie had cut all contact with Al for 5 years. It didn’t matter that it had been over a decade ago, that before and after they were thick as thieves. So the next morning Al let his cousin make breakfast, bravely swallowed one bite and washed it down with half a gallon of Coke, and finished with three sunny side ups. Artie insisted his “baked beans”, that is, a sad, dry heap of something bumpy, and black pudding were delicious and nutritious. That _might_ have been the case with store-bought “pudding” that had _no business_ being called pudding, if the ingredient’s weren’t so god damn gross to begin with.

“It’s an acquired taste, that’s for sure”, Al muttered in response. How Artie was capable of swallowing his own hellish productions was a mystery for the ages. He was _married_ to a master chef and still lived in a delusional world where his own cooking wouldn’t be censored in daytime TV. Al left the Brit to shovel his indescribable “consumables” alone, and 15 minutes later arrived at the station.

“Morning, guys!”

“Morning”, greeted a chorus. A slow night, then, if so many were at the station. José made space for Al at the table and they went over the incidents of the last shift. A couple car crashes, two kitchen fires, one false alarm. Such a big city and so few incidents, that couldn’t last. Today would have to be busy.

Stu dug out the playing cards after the last shift went home. They were starting the second round of poker when duty called the first time – a false alarm from an old folks’ home, something had spilled on the stove and triggered the alarm. One of the nurses made eyes at Stu, who never wasted a chance to flirt with a pretty face.

“Way to keep it professional, Stu”, Jack sighed back in the truck. Jack was a forty-year old virgin. Word on the street was he’d never had a single girlfriend, or boyfriend, and that was why he was so frustrated. He spent most of his free time exercising and fishing.

“I just made her day”, Stu argued proudly. He never went beyond flirting, as far as Al knew – the man worshipped his wife. His phone memory was 90% pictures of her.

That reminded Al - should he have called Ivan yesterday? Al knew _he_ wouldn’t mind being contacted the next morning, but Artie _did_ keep telling him he was the most socially clueless bloke in the world, so maybe he shouldn’t trust his own judgement? Why hadn’t he asked Artie yesterday ? The old man might not have been in the game for a decade, but he had to still have _some_ memories from his single days!

“Hey Jack, suppose you gave your number to a girl. Wouldja think she was desperate if she called you the next day?”

Jack sighed exasperatedly, like he always did when Al asked him for relationship advice.

“I don’t know. I _never_ know anything you ask! Think whatever _you_ think.”

“I just wanna make sure! ‘Cause I don’t wanna drive away a good guy by being creepy.”

“You’ll drive him away by being _obnoxious_ ”, Jack snapped. “Can we _please_ concentrate on work instead of your sex life?”

“I’d rather not think about all the dick my coworker is sucking, either”, Stu commented from behind the wheel. Had it been anyone else, Al would have punched them. Stu was chill, he just had a crass sense of humour and no brain-to-mouth filter. “Honestly though, wait until next evening but not longer. You’ll want to seem interested.”

Shit, so was it already too late?! A day and a half had already passed! And the station was still ten minutes away! Had he already screwed up his chance?

Jeez, stay cool, man! Ivan was totally into him, if anything he’d be overjoyed Al had remembered him! Yeah, that sounded much better. Al could salvage this. Right when they got to the station he’d call. Riiiiight… nnnnnnnnnoooooooooow!

“I need to make a call!” he yelled and sprinted for the relative peace of the locker room.

~¨:.:¨~

Ivan was in no mood for solicitors right now. Staring at files and security footage for hours on end was soul-sucking work enough without some young hopeful desperately begging him to buy just this one amazing supplement that comes free with this subscription of these seven home improvement magazines only for 19.99 per month! Ivan never had problems hanging up on them immediately but that didn’t take away the reminder of outside life. For now, the only place that was supposed to exist was this sleazy alley with dismal lighting where one frame in a week’s worth might or might not reveal that Richard Boyarin had walked by it at some point during his vacation. Incredibly important work.

Ivan frowned at the screen. It was a number he didn’t have saved on his phone. That was no news, he had a total of eight numbers in there. Two were his sisters’, one his boss’, one his partner’s, one for the station front desk, three for delivery food.

He suddenly had the irrationally hopeful thought that it might be Alfred. Absurd as the notion was, it was tempting. And Toris clearly wanted him to silence the ringing, so why not try his luck? Anything would be better than trying to distinguish the black pixels from the other, slightly less black pixels. Fully prepared to be disappointed, Ivan answered as harshly as he could.

“ _Alyo_?”

”Hey _Vanya_ , it’s Alfred!”

Thoroughly shocked, but altogether pleased, Ivan felt an unexpectedly honest smile forming on his face, and casually insulted Alfred’s pronunciation.

“Oh _screw you_ , I did fine. You free tomorrow night?” Alfred’s nasal voice asked, completely carefree and smiling widely. Typical American, but at least Alfred’s smile wasn’t deceitful. He smiled because he was happy, not because he needed a good tip to pay his bills. Ivan was free, and had the feeling he would even _make_ himself free if he hadn’t been. But the idiot didn’t need to know that, his ego was bloated enough already.

“Hmm…” Pausing as if to check his calendar, Ivan lifted a finger to his lips at the nervously disapproving Toris. There was never any evidence in the Baton killer’s cases anyway. Of course not a single hair, spit drop or footprint had been found in this one either, which was the whole reason they had been forced to turn to these good as useless security tapes. The only thing ever found were the bodies, and that they had already analyzed to Hell and back, and of course it had revealed nothing new. Why pour over the same old evidence, hour after countless hour without any breaks? There would be a new victim, perhaps soon, even, there had been a long break between the last two. _Then_ they could actually work.

“Yes, I have a few hours after seven.”

It wouldn’t do to look too eager. Ivan Braginski did not chase after men.

“Great! Wanna go out? Rocker’s has a party celebrating the owner’s daughter’s birthday so they’ll have free booze! See you there at eight!”

It better not be punch.

“I suppose. What’s the address?”

“It’s right next to orthodox church, you’ll find it!”

If he found the _church_. Ivan rarely paid attention to places of worship, and then only to avoid them. Well, he would just Google the place later. Couldn’t be too many Orthodox churches in a city like this. He wondered if Alfred suggested the place because he thought Ivan had an inclination towards the Eastern church.

“And hey, you never showed me your badge”, Alfred whined. An adult man, so fixated on badges, how cute.

“You didn’t ask.”

“Well show it to me tomorrow! You’ll _love_ it”, Alfred said, wiggling his eyebrows so hard they almost rode the electronic waves to Ivan’s desk. He truly did like cops. Alfred was delightfully childish in a way that was funny for a few hours, but no one could take for more than a day at a time. One could only imagine how he had been as an _actual_ child. Ten times as bad, or exactly the same? Maybe some boys never did grow up, as they say.

“Only If you promise to stop whining.”

“I promise _nothing_! Come onnnn, I’ll show ya my hose…”

Again the eyebrows wiggled and Ivan almost snickered. Such a strange person. How old was he? He had looked a bit younger than Ivan, so maybe thirty or late twenties? A good age, young enough to enjoy fun but not young enough go overboard, old enough to understand life but not old enough to be weary of it.

“Well in that case. Will you show me how it works?”

“Oh, I’ll show you all right, and let you try…”

This time Ivan did snort.

“Tone down the eyebrows and I might take up your offer”, he chuckled, making Toris tilt his head in confusion. It couldn’t be _that_ odd to hear Ivan laugh, could it? Surely he had done it in his partner’s presence before.

“Eyebrows?” Alfred asked and the eyebrows stopped wiggling. He must have done it instinctively so he didn’t even pick up on it. Ivan wouldn’t be surprised – Alfred hardly seemed the perceptive type. The only things he could think about were probably sex, cheetos and beer. “You want me to pluck 'em? They’re kinda thin already…”

“Nevermind. Just make sure to impress me and you’ll get something good in return”, Ivan smirked, whirling around on his office chair.

“Ivan –“ Toris attempted, but a quick hushing from Ivan silenced him and made him go back to studying the badly pixellated security footage.

“Oh, do you have company?”

“Just my partner. We’re going through some evidence.”

_Thank_ _you_ , Toris. Live a little, nerd.

“Jeez, you should have said you were at work. Tell me _all_ about it later! Seven at Rocker’s! Bye!”

“Bye.”

With a heavy sigh Ivan put his phone back in his pocket. Security footage was easily the most mind-numbing part of police work, even worse than paper work, and in homicide investigation it contrasted so badly with the actual _interesting_ part it felt ten times more tedious than in any other department.

“Toris, you wouldn’t mind getting me a coffee?”

Toris silently nodded and scurried off. The diminutive Lithuanian was an interesting mix of courage and nerves: on the job he wouldn’t flinch even when a gun was pointed at him, but whenever he was alone with his partner, he became a fidgety mess. Brilliant man, great at his job, but very meek. He had joined the force three years before Ivan, and was also that same three years older. They had been partnered seven months ago, after Ivan’s then-partner had been crippled on duty when they had been chasing a suspect.

Tragic story, really. She would have survived the car crash with minor injuries, had a freak malfunction not made her gun fire inside the car and lodge the bullet in her spine. One of the finest of the force, she had been. Dedicated, smart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed that Ivan goes back and forth with Alfred and Jones – that’s on purpose. He uses Jones whenever he wants to maintain some distance, and Alfred when he forgets to despise all of humanity. Oh Ivan, you’re not nearly as misanthropic as you tell yourself!
> 
> _Dobroye utro(Дoбрoе утрo): Good morning  
>  Alyo( Алё): Hello_
> 
> Chapter name comes from Ship of Fools by World party. I should probably mention that the song lyrics have nothing to do with the chapter contents, I choose them purely by title. Also the symbolism mostly only makes sense to me:D Don’t mind if you don’t get what I’m going for.


	3. Gallon To Liter Converter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: suicidal ideation, self-hate, alcohol as a coping mechanism  
> Ivan really isn’t healthy, but he will get better as the story progresses. I would also like to remind that co-authors are welcome!:) Chapters 4 and 5 are almost complete but after that I’ve hit a wall. Let me know in the comments or my tumblr(@linssikeittomies) if you or someone you know might be interested!  
> I wanted to update on Christmas Eve, but I was too busy arranging my luggage for the flight and school stuff the few days before and then had a shift on 24th so I had no time edit... -_- Well, consider it a late Christmas gift:D
> 
> Heads up for a *****masturbation***** scene! A collaboration with a friend, since I’m somehow incapable of writing them by myself:D It’s still not porn-level explicit, but in case you don’t like it, it’s safe to skip.

_Score_! Now Al didn’t look desperate but had shown clear interest! Yeah, it might have been weird to go to a bar in the middle of the week, but that didn’t mean they had to get drunk. Ivan probably had work the next day, so they’d just take a few and then hopefully continue things elsewhere. _Hopefully_ , yeah right! Ivan would be on him like flies on honey! Couldn’t hurt to help his chances along, though – after work he’d take a nap, and clean his place in case they ended up there. Then tomorrow he’d just take extra care to keep it clean until it was time. By then it would be alright to make it hot and dirty. He should prepare a few surfaces in advance! Change the bedsheets, clear all the tables, like that. And in the morning they could have breakfast together again! Al was already looking forward to another round of the insult game.

José noticed the giddy smile when Al came back.

 “Looks like you got that date”, he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. “When can we expect wedding invitations?”

 “With your attitude, _never_!”

 “As long as you don’t make a habit of flirting on the clock. Stu does it enough for all of us.”

 “Party pooper.”

That was nothing if not an invitation to horseplay.

-_-_-_-_-

The shift proved just as uneventful as the last. Stu used the time to coo about his wife again, this this time his favorite thing about her was her bedhead. Ivan’s bedhead was nothing out of the ordinary. Just a little flat. The color was more interesting – so blond it was almost white, matching his skin almost perfectly. He was the palest person Al had ever seen, was he actually albino? Nah, his eyes weren’t red. They were that Liz Taylor violet. They should watch a Liz Taylor movie together. Not Cleopatra, that was way too long, but Father of the Bride, though he had no idea what it was about, the name just sounded familiar, or… what other movies had she made? Maybe Bruce Willis would be a surer shot? Everyone loves Bruce Willis! And since Al had only watched Die Hard 2 Director’s Cut Special 25th Anniversary Edition once, it would still be a fresh experience! Yeah, that’s what they’d do. Bruce Willis and chill.

*****

Al always knew that getting the biggest couch in the store would pay off some day, Ivan was a big man. He was hard to fit anywhere… Al was still a little sore from their little adventure. Good thing he never let his lube stash run dry. Oh, and he should maybe go get some more condoms. The biggest ones he could find. And it couldn’t hurt to do some stretching beforehand. He had only ever seen dicks like that in porn… and usually they were attached to such an ugly face he had a hard time getting into it. Heh, _hard_. Hard… it was rare to get such a hard ride. Al knew his tastes could get a little intense for most people, but Ivan’d had no problem with them. He had followed Al’s lead and taken things even further, to the point where it actually got a little scary, for the first time in years. The way he had forcefully pushed Al down and strangled him had been a thrill he hadn’t realized he had missed… He’d like to try it again. He hadn’t even realized that asphyxiation was a kink he had. And now he’d be getting it on the regular…

His dick sure liked the idea, it went up to half-mast without even a single touch. Better do something about that. Of course it wouldn’t be the same without Ivan actually there, but if he didn’t do _something_ he’d be walking around with a boner for the rest of the day, knowing his imagination. And an orgasm is never disappointing or wasted! If anything, it was helpful – Al wouldn’t want to cum too quickly when he got the real deal tomorrow! So with that in mind, he should try something new. What though? He’d seen enough crime dramas to know autoerotic asphyxiation was a one-way ticket to the morgue, and he wasn’t horny enough for that. He also kind of needed his hands, so no bondage. Hmm… Maybe he could tie his legs together? It would be _something_ , at least. Look up some Russian porn. That language was sexy as fuck. Shouldn’t be hard to convince Ivan to dirty talk him in Russian, he’d done it himself last time… Fuck, that’d been hot… Maybe he’d just find some video on Youtube and watch his usual porn muted. He had no problem pretending the audio belonged to the video.

It didn’t take too long to find something that did the job, plus points for the guy’s deep voice. If he took off his glasses, Al could even say he somewhat resembled Ivan, with his blond hair and super pale skin. While he rambled on about something meaningless, Al opened a new tab for his usual fap material. The sub didn’t do it for him, but the _dom,_ oh fuck, the dom, he was built like Captain America and commanded like a prison guard, he didn’t waste his time with teasing, he went straight for it, hands rough and tongue sharp. Al encouraged his cock with a few harsh yanks as he watched the dreamboat force his slave on all fours, eyes half closed and mind eagerly placing him and Ivan on the set of the video, the audio from the other tab pouring into his ears like sweet, maddeningly lewd honey. He didn’t even try to pace himself, he needed the release _now_ , his hand couldn’t move fast enough, couldn’t slap hard enough, and Ivan mocking him right in his ears drove him _crazy_ , Al began skipping the video, looking for the best bits and, oh god- he found it, _oh God right there_ , and Ivan chuckled as Al moaned loud, lolling his head back and hips starting to jerk along as his hands moved faster and faster, one inching up to his throat to squeeze it tight, whole body shuddering as _oh_ _fuuuuuuuck_ , Ivannnn -

When Al came back to his senses, he was milking the last of his cum from his fast depleting cock, his heart slamming against his ribcage so hard the neighbors might have heard. Oh… oh wow. That was _hands down_ Al’s greatest jerk off session in months! He hoped he’d had enough sense not to moan too loud, because wow, wouldn’t that be awkward when he bumped into them next time. He took off his earphones, the bass voice still whispering in his ears, and he realized how hilarious it would be if he just came to a weather forecast.

*****

Okay, enough resting. The sheets weren’t gonna wash themselves. And the shirt. _Aw man_ , his favorite shirt! Iron Man would not approve! Why hadn’t he aimed more at the sheets! They were basically clean! Just a small spot there on the left side. Welp, no can do, he’d wash his clothes first since he didn’t want his sheets turning pink. After the first wash was done he’d hunt down all the other whites.

... Ehh, he’d wash it in the morning. He was always horny when he woke up so the sheets would just get dirty again. In fact, better to just start the whole cleaning business tomorrow. Al was kind of messy, he’d just dirty up the place if he started too early. Better to use this evening for working out, since tomorrow he’d be too busy for that. Throwing his shirt in the wash, he put on his jogging gear and got to work. He made it longer than usual, and then popped in at Gema’s after showering for a trim so he’d be at his best tomorrow. Of course he never looked half bad, but every now and then a guy would show up who made him want to make an extra effort.

-_-_-_-_-

Al started his morning with pancakes to get himself on a better mood in order to feel up to cleaning. With the sheets he barely even procrastinated, but the rest he just didn’t feel like doing. He wasted some time trying to set a new record in Super Mario, but as the clock ticked nearer to 1pm, he had to stop pretending there was still time. He decided to start with the living room, since it was still mainly in order after Artie’s visit. Just a few DVD cases lying around from the movie marathon. Including Die Hard 2. Actually, he should watch it beforehand to make sure there was nothing offensive towards Russians about it, or Ivan might not put out. Sounded like a plan! And butter flavor popcorn! No beer since it’s no fair to drink when the other can’t. He’d stock up on Coke. Ice cream, of course. Vanilla just to be sure, and strawberry and chocolate went without saying, maybe something exotic if the store had it. Should he invest in Ben&Jerry’s? It was so damn expensive, but it _was_ also the best. Chunky Monkey, mmmmmmmm.

He jogged to the store, stopped for take-out pizza on the way home for dinner, and faced a problem when he couldn’t fit all the ice cream in the freezer. After a bit of pondering, he had to eat the Blondie Ambition pint by himself as dessert. That meant he had to open a Coke to chase it down, and flat Coke is no fun for anyone so he had to finish that bottle as well.  He hid the evidence by throwing out the trash as he left, he wasn’t about to let Ivan join the mob nagging him about his diet. He couldn’t do much about the rest of the apartment since after the movie he’d had too little time to clean it properly, but Ivan _probably_ wasn’t the type to check other people’s closets, so he just shoved everything out of sight and vacuumed the floors.

~¨:.:¨~

Ivan got off work at five, but he hadn’t really worked all day. In his mind, he could hardly be blamed for not being interested in the case – the police would never find real evidence on the Baton killer. They had been trying for a year even before Ivan had been assigned to the case. Yes, they now knew that Richard Boyarin had in fact passed by Margarita Alley, but that was _all_ it proved – that didn’t tell them if he had been killed nearby, or if one of the five other people caught on tape that day were BK. They knew exactly the same things they had known since the body had been identified – the victim was a half-Russian half-American man visiting his mother’s family, assaulted and strangled to death on April 7 th, found three days later.

There were times when Ivan envied the victims. They were free. All their worries, all their failings, all their responsibilities, wiped clean just like that. It was worth the short suffering to never feel anything again. Duty ended with life. It was a nirvana. Meanwhile Ivan would be forever stuck in samsara. Since his birth, planned with treachery, beginning with deception continuing with dishonesty falsehood deceitful twisted _perverse depraved evil degenerate savage man who deserved it all but he didn’t want to think about,_ he didn’t want to think about it, he didn’t want to think about it so he needed distractions, whatever he could find to distract himself, he was himself a distraction, others used him for the same reason. It was alright to be a distraction. Jones was only a distraction. Ivan was only a distraction. He was good for nothing else. He was a distraction for Katyushka and Tasha as well, so they could forget about their suffering for a fleeting moment. Ivan was happy to help. His sisters had never been at fault, their Hell was all Ivan’s doing. Whatever he could do to repay their endless patience and goodwill, he did with a genuine smile.

18:17. Ivan threw his cold dinner in the trash. He wasn’t hungry. There was no reason to be nervous about Jones – they were both only using the other to forget about something for the night. When the goal was mutual and clear to both parties, there was no need to pretend. If one of them gave up all pretense of affection, they would only reach it faster.

According to Google maps the orthodox church was 40 minutes away on foot. The snow that had fallen in the early morning had partly melted into wet, disgusting slush, and as if to compensate, the wind had picked up. The only sensible thing to do in this weather was to ball up into bed and turn the heating up to maximum. 18:23. Ivan threw all his clothes in the washing machine and took a cold shower because he didn’t have the time to let the water heat up. 18:35. His favorite gray sweater would see some use today. Since the weather was so bad, he put his thickest one on top of that. He needed to get a new coat, this one took some work to fit over the two sweaters. 18:39. Ivan took the elevator down and ran half the way.

-_-_-_-_-

Jones was standing at the corner of the church. He greeted Ivan with a childish pout and red cheeks.

 “I was ten seconds away from ditching you!”

Ivan doubted that. He looked good – he had put great effort into picking his outfit and styling his hair. Even then, he had an energetic cowlick. Or it might have been on purpose. Oddly enough, it suited him. Not many could make one work.

 “And miss out on free alcohol? Someone like you would only miss that chance because they were arrested.”

 “I’ll have you know the main reason is still the birthday! The lady deserves my congratulations!” “Is there anyone in this city you _don’t_ know?”

 “Plenty! But I know everyone who matters”, Alfred said with a wink. Was he suggesting he was friends with the mayor? That hardly seemed likely. The mayor was a good thirty years older, and from what Ivan had seen of Alfred, also ten times more dull. Who else was important? For most people it was politicians. Alfred idolized the police, but it didn’t sound any more plausible for him to be in the police chief or the commissioner’s social circle, either. Josie Welder hated nothing more than oblivious men, and Errol Bextor was best known for his oblivious homophobia. Perhaps he was referring to someone in the emergency services?

 “Just get inside already, you big lug! Not everyone has your fat reserves!”

 “But some might have brains enough to go inside instead of waiting ten minutes in the wind.”

The free alcohol _better_ not be punch. If Ivan was going to tolerate Jones any longer than five minutes, he was going to need something _strong_.

 “I just wanted to make sure you got the right place. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the owner! He’s super cool, you’ll love him!”

Ivan would not love him. Regardless, he let Jones lead him to a table with a large vat of something labeled as Happy Birthday Wynona!, lemon and orange slices floating on top. Of _course_ it was punch. Ivan steered clear of the girly fruit drink and stuck to whiskey. Jones had filled his glass to the brim with the pale yellow excuse of alcohol while he chatted with Ivan, waiting for the owner to finish his business in the backroom, downed it like the water it was, and promptly filled it anew. He was being unexpectedly civil, only friendly words had exited his mouth since they came in. He briefly recapped his day, gave his full name as Alfred F. Jones, the F. was very important, but Ivan would have to treat him to dinner before getting the honor of finding out what it stood for. In return he wanted to know Ivan’s full name, because he had read on the internet that Russians used patronymics and wanted to know how impossibly long Ivan’s name was. He valiantly tried to repeat Ivan Yevgeniyevich Braginski, but Ivan didn’t mind when Alfred mangled it beyond recognition. It wasn’t his real name.

Despite that grim reminder Ivan was almost in a good mood until the owner, a brown-haired man with a band-aid on his nose, finally crawled out of hiding. Alfred flashed him a bright smile and introduced him, and then forgot all about Ivan. He just chatted with the owner, about this and that, about nothing of importance, abandoning his invited guest. He tried not to hold it against Alfred, he was probably just excited because he hadn’t seen his friend in a while and it was an important day for him and his daughter, who had been a no-show thus far. Ivan decided to distract himself by taking his first real look at his surroundings – they were mostly filled with bearded, middle-aged, leather-clad men. The walls were covered in pictures of motorcycles. The music was hard rock. A biker bar if he ever saw one. Alfred fit in spectacularly bad, as did the surfer dude owner.

 “Where’s the birthday girl? I should say happy birthday.”

 “Wynona’s not old enough to drink”, the owner explained, thus revealing that Alfred hadn’t actually known him for long. He just seemed overtly friendly with everyone. Did he even have real friends, or just an absurd amount of acquaintances? Did it bother him, or did he even realize? Maybe he was so thick-headed he couldn’t tell the difference between friend and friendly stranger?

 “For real? How old’s she?

 “Twelve, and looks exactly like her mother did at that age.”

Ivan hated rock, and it was so loud. He was suddenly reminded why he always drank at home. He had little patience for humans as it was, he didn’t need bad music blowing up his eardrums and raucous laughter over the worst jokes imaginable. He had never understood how someone could be a people person. What was interesting about people? They were all either just disgusting scumbags or boring work ants.

The owner kept glancing warily at Ivan, looming behind Alfred and not saying a word. He had no desire to speak to this man, nor did he have reason to. Talking was Alfred’s job, and Ivan gladly let him do it. Even so, it did get a little boring just standing there. So Ivan decided to play the little game he was quite good at: raising a smile to his face he fixed his unflinching stare on the owner. At first he didn’t notice, but oh boy, when he did! Quite soon the brunet got so distracted by the stare he couldn’t follow the conversation he was having with Alfred, not that it had much content to begin with. He kept glancing, each time with a more disturbed look. Soon he started visibly sweating, and looking more at Ivan than Alfred. The idiot never even noticed, just kept yammering on about jet planes or something. Ivan couldn’t say he paid attention, this game was much more interesting. He could almost see the heart racing under the bar owners skin, quick like a bunny rabbit’s caught in a fox’s jaws. It didn’t take long for him to break down and excuse himself to the back room.

Alfred was unperturbed, turning to Ivan and challenging him out of the blue. “Hey, watch me drink you under the table!” By then he was on his third punch, and already blushing lightly. Maybe the punch was stronger than Ivan had assumed. He still wasn’t about to try it.

 “Loser pays”, Ivan agreed, smiling.

Alfred flitted over to the now sole bartender, who prepared him a tray of shots before returning to drawing beers to the bikers. Perhaps she had seen the game going on with Ivan and the owner, and didn’t want a round.

Apparently Alfred had announced his intentions, since two bikers followed him and sat down to the neighboring table. The two were from the younger end of the establishment’s clientele, but still older than Ivan. Had he been alone, he’d have told them to scram, but since Alfred didn’t seem to mind then, Ivan tried to patient this once. He knew Alfred had a snowball’s chance in Hell of beating him in this contest, even if Ivan had preceded it with a whole bottle of Smirnoff. He’d had over 15 years to raise his tolerance, not to mention he was about 30 kilos heavier.

The two strangers were pretty well lit and snickered at something. Probably Ivan. He was tempted to lift them up by their necks and throw them out the window, but he didn’t want Alfred earning bad points with the owner, insignificant as he was in the grand scheme of things.

“I ordered vodka just for you!” Alfred winked as he divided the shots between the two of them. It had been a while since Ivan had last shared vodka with anyone, since Katyushka didn’t drink and Tasha got terrifying with alcohol in her system, and suddenly wanted to honor the instance with proper etiquette.

 “Ah! We must make a toast, then!”

 “Okay! Umm… Here’s to the police force, for keeping us safe.”

Eh, unimaginative and too straight to the point. Okay for a first time, but he would have time to practice.

 “Well, then here’s to our city’s fine firefighters, tirelessly and selflessly saving lives and souls.”

 “Okay, here goes!”

Alfred downed his first shot smoothly enough, but got to the second one before making a toast. Ivan let it slide, after all he wasn’t familiar with Russian customs. Maybe he’d let Alfred stay comfortable. Since he started coughing in the middle of his third shot. Ivan smiled mockingly and downed his own five without any problems. The bikers cheered.

-_-_-_-_-

Drinking with Alfred was fun. He got very competitive even though it was clear as day he couldn’t beat Ivan. He started slurring and got wobbly, so watching him try to stumble his way to the toilet was hilarious. He kept bumping into walls and tripping on his feet. He complained about Ivan not getting drunk at all and lost all his ability for banter.

Funny as he was, Ivan decided to take him home before he got alcohol poisoning.

 “Byeeee everyoooone!” Alfred yelled at the door. The owner and some of the patrons shot him a worried look. He stumbled and Ivan had to lift him back to his feet. Alfred circled his arms around Ivan’s waist and practically purred. They walked out the door with some trouble, as Alfred preferred being dragged on the ground to actually lifting his feet.

 “Maaaaaan, you so soft…”

 “I’m wearing three layers”, Ivan reminded. It had been overkill now that he thought about it, just the gray sweater would have been enough with maybe a dress shirt under it, for style.

 “Gimme a kiss”, Alfred demanded, puckering his lips and bursting into laughter before he got what he wanted. “Why annt… _arentcha_ drunk?”

 “I’ve had lots of practice”, Ivan joked. He _was_ drunk, just not as much as Alfred, and he had thankfully always been a coherent drunk. All that happened was he started zoning out and forgot to filter out some of his more private thoughts. He had even been to work drunk three times, and his partners hadn’t even noticed. His boss had once smelled the alcohol, but been fooled by Ivan’s apparent sobriety.

The two slowly made their way to the closest bus stop, and had to wait twenty minutes. Alfred was so absorbed in digging a hole in the newly fallen wet snow Ivan had to remind him three times to knock it off before his socks got wet. Ivan also had to point out that their bus was coming. Thank goodness he wasn’t too far gone to miss his stop, so they didn’t need to walk two blocks in the wet cold. Alfred tugged on Ivan’s sleeve and skipped out of the bus, Ivan in tow.

 “Ann I’d name ‘im Prez, cuz imagine how cool dawoubbe!”

Alfred had been babbling about his dream pet, a bald eagle, for thirty minutes straight. This was by no means surprising. The surprising part was that Ivan listened with patience instead of panning the idea straight away. He wanted let Alfred have his fun. He _had_ given Ivan a nice night out and he wasn’t bad company even now, despite his ludicrous ideas. A pet eagle would be terrible. It would need a cage the size of a house, eat a pig daily, destroy the furniture and slash the owner’s arteries open with its claws, molt all over the place and cover the walls in bird crap.

 “- ma-jes-tic as _fuck_ , sidding on mah shoulder, ya know? Ain’t no thang like a bald eagle… Die Harder!” Alfred babbled, completely lost in his thoughts, trying to fit the key in the hole. Ivan waited patiently, but after ten seconds, it became apparent he had to step in.

 “Thanks, man!” Alfred beamed, turned around, and tripped on the threshold. Ivan sighed and shook his head at the pitiable sight. Grudgingly he helped the moron up, who “thanked” him with a sloppy kiss and dragged him in. Ivan tried to push him in the direction of the bedroom, but Alfred was either too drunk to notice or his munchies were too powerful.

 “Pancakes…” he mumbled to himself and wobbled to his pantry.

Ivan decided to stay and watch after him, but only because Alfred might light up the building in his current condition.

Or not, as he decided to turn around after fumbling the bag of flour to the floor and decided to instead molest Ivan. Had Alfred been just a _touch_ less drunk, he would have obliged, but right now he wasn’t in the mood for a shitty lay.

 “Just go to _sleep_ , you idiot”, Ivan sighed defeated. This was herding kittens.

 “Come with me…” Alfred whined and tried to get his hand inside Ivan’s pants. Not being in the mood for a shitty lay also meant not being in the mood for objections, so Ivan simply lifted Alfred up like a smelly baby and dropped him on the bed.

 “ _Sleep_ ”, he commanded, and Alfred squeaked weakly and quickly burrowed under the covers. When Ivan checked back in after taking off his coat, Alfred was still awake, peeking shyly from under his duvet.

 “Didn’t I tell you to sleep?” Ivan demanded. His patience was wearing very, _very_ thin.

 “I have to pee…”

Ivan was forced to let Alfred in the bathroom. Alfred’s apartment was too hot for his likes, so he set the thermostat lower. He carefully folded his clothes on the floor next to the bed and slid under the covers. Alfred was close behind, and predictably tried to grope Ivan again. He settled down with a firm command, and lasted all of five minutes before falling asleep with his head resting on Ivan’s clavicle. Ivan himself wasn’t feeling as relaxed. Sleeping in a strange bed was a rare experience for him, and he didn’t much like not being able to recognize the dark shapes in the room. He also now noticed that the walls in Alfred’s place were thinner than in his own: he could hear a neighbor chatting with someone, presumably on the phone, as the other person couldn’t be heard. Another neighbor was whistling.

Knowing Jones, he was probably best friends with everyone in the building, holding tea parties and giggling about the dumb faces Ivan made during sex. He didn’t appreciate people knowing about him while not knowing them himself.

He might have to burn down the building.

He _might_ advise Alfred to clear out in time, but he wasn’t sure. On one hand, Alfred was fun, and a nice person, and probably didn’t deserve to burn alive. On the other hand, that only meant he would hurt Ivan worse in the end. Nice things weren’t meant for Ivan. They didn’t last, they didn’t stay, they didn’t like him, because he was a horrible man and a fake no matter what he did and tried because it was _how he began_ – no, he couldn’t think about it now, he didn’t _ever_ want to think about it, he wasn’t ready for that, he didn’t ever want to see it again but it was already burned to his retinas because it was too dark in this room he could see it again it wouldn’t go away and it shouldn’t it was his fault, it was his fault, it was his fault, it was his fault, his fault that everything had been destroyed…

The images danced around in Ivan’s head, jeering at him until he fell asleep, where they manifested in stress-filled nightmares, dark and oppressive in every sense, reminders of a life that had been lost so many years ago.

Until, out of the blue, warm, soft arms gently wrapped themselves around him, and sang to him in a voice that he, even in dream, knew he would never hear again. He was bathed in a soft, golden haze, and joined the song with his own child’s voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Al and Ivan aren’t on the same page about their relationship. Al is the type of socially awkward who attaches and opens up about everything way too fast and thinks they’re well on their way to falling in love, while Ivan believes no one could care about him and keeps everyone, even his sisters, at arm’s length despite craving attachment.  
> Katyushka(look closely and you’ll see there’s an extra K in there) and Tasha: nicknames for Yekaterina and Nataliya, if my research is correct they are more intimate than Katyusha and Natasha. I imagine that in public the siblings typically use Katyusha, Ivan and Natasha, and in private Katyushka, Vanya and Tasha. Sometimes Katyusha uses Vanechka for Ivan, and when they’re feeling especially affectionate, both Katyusha and Ivan use Tashenka for Nataliya.  
> Using Bible verses for symbolism is such an overused trope but I really wanted to do it with the hours and minutes, but then couldn’t find a good one… orz
> 
> Chapter name comes from Gallon to Liter Converter by Sim Gretina.
> 
> I apologize for the notes, I tried to remove the ch1 notes from ch2 but that only deleted them from ch1 too… I just hope ch2 notes won’t appear at the end of this ch too:D


	4. Capsize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is honestly no one willing to co-author?D; It wouldn’t have to be a full-time job, I’d even take vague ideas or characterization help! I actually have quite a lot already written, it’s just that I need expand the scenes and tie them together.  
> My Al is getting closer and closer to Ivan, it’s getting difficult to tell which POV is which until you see names^^’

When Al woke up, and it was pitch black and cold as Antarctica in mid-winter. Cursing, he threw the covers over his head and curled up into a tight ball, and in doing so, jabbed something with his knee. Confused, he reached for the light switch next to the bed.

Oh right, Ivan had stayed the night again. The details were pretty hazy, but coming back. The contest, the ride home, the thirst… Oh man, he’d never live this one down! And they hadn’t even watched Die Hard 2! The best movie of all time. Right after Die Hard 1. And Terminator 2, if you cut out John Connor. Ivan might make a pretty good T-1000 with some training. But not the way he was right then, his sleeping face was too adorable. He looked really young, but he couldn’t be _that_ young if he was already a detective. Unless he was some kind of prodigy? He seemed super smart, so Al wouldn’t count that out.

Al turned the lights off again so he wouldn’t wake the other up, and figured sharing body heat would warm him up enough. Ivan was too inviting, even if the idea of watching a little longer _was_ really appealing – he was just so _cute_ and innocent! Al snuggled in a bit closer, setting his head lightly on the man’s chest, and encouraged by the steady breathing, snaked his arm around his waist.  The man’s skin was a bit cool, despite the duvet. Al had noticed it earlier, too. Maybe that was why Ivan liked to bundle up even in just slightly chilly weather. Or should it be the other way ‘round, since fish like cold water? So if Ivan was cold, he should like being cold? Hmm. There’s food for thought. In the morning. Al shifted a little closer again, pressing flush against the other’s side. Ivan was apparently in deep sleep since he didn’t react in any way.

-_-_-_-_-

Sometime later Alfred woke up again, no longer lingering drunk, but hung over and tired as _fuck_. His head was swimming, but at least his stomach only felt a little queasy, which he was eternally thankful for. He had a strong stomach, he couldn’t remember the last time he had vomited for any reason. It was dark as coals, which didn’t tell all that much since winter was near and it only started getting light after nine. Al didn’t feel like checking the time. His eyes hurt even in the pitch blackness, and his headache almost rendered thinking painful. How in the hell had he gotten _that_ drunk?! He had a pretty good tolerance, and had never felt like he might literally _die_ if he didn’t get coffee. He groaned loudly, but that only served to make his breath _taste_ like a week-old corpse. And stirring made his bladder basically leak.

Al was halfway getting up to piss an ocean and purge his mouth with all the Listerine he had left when he felt something shift against his side, and remembered Ivan. Somehow he had slipped down towards the end of the bed during the night, and his forehead was pressed against Al’s shoulder. It was too dark to see his face, but his steady breathing indicated he was still fast asleep.

Lucky bastard.

Al pet his hair lightly and kissed the top of his head. “A few hours after seven”, heh. Hopefully his hangover wouldn’t bother him too much at work.

 “I’m real sorry ‘bout this, but I gotta pee about an ocean’s worth right this second”, he quietly apologized and pried himself out of bed. In the bathroom he heard the sheets rustle and soon after defeated cursing in a foreign language.

The Listerine didn’t help nearly as much as Al had hoped, so he set out to making a full pot the strongest coffee known to man. He stopped on the way to check on Ivan. The Russian had pulled the duvet over his head.

 “I’m putting on coffee”, Al informed with a whisper, in case the Russian was as hung over as he was.

 “Iz four in ze morning, get back in bed”, Ivan groaned in response, his accent stronger than ever., the R’s drilling holes in Al’s skull.

 “Nah, I gotta have my coffee, see how I feel after that. Sweet dreams.”

Not wanting to brave turning on the lights Al took his phone and used the flashlight to find his way around. It worked fine enough as long as he kept it pointing at the exact opposite direction of his eyes. This proved a problem while loading the coffeemaker since he couldn’t keep it upright on the counter, and in the end he had to do it blind. He flipped the machine on, downed three aspirins and massaged his temples while he waited for it to finish, shivering violently, despite having thrown on his jacket. The heating must’ve broken, it was cold as balls, but he didn’t want to wake up Ivan by rooting around his closet for pants to wear. And he’d feel warmer anyway once the coffee was done. Speaking of which – taking great care to not clink the porcelain cups against each other he picked the souvenir cup in Mexico’s colors Gema had given him the last time she had gone to visit her family in Puebla. Wrapping his frozen fingers around the hot cup he cursed his impulsiveness and gullibility. He was 28 for fuck’s sakes, he should know better than to do vodka shots!

As he took the first sip of the heavenly half-sugar-and-milk half-coffee drink, Ivan followed him into the kitchen.  The last thing Al had expected was for him to even be _awake_ , but there he was, bleary-eyed and yawning, cocooned in sheets, but looking surprisingly happy considering the situation.

 “Need some aspirin?” Al whispered. Ivan shook his head carefully and plopped down on the other chair.

 “Jus wan kaah,”, he mumbled, his accent just a tiny bit less strong, but suddenly combined with tired slurring. Al obliged once he figured out the groans meant. He didn’t really have small cups, but pouring a big one half-full did the job. Ivan yawned a thank you and rubbed his eyes. Al dragged his own chair next to his and pried open the sheets in a listless battle, slipping them around both of them. Body heat helped with the coldness somewhat, but Al’s comforter was made for humane temperatures, not the vacuum of space.

 “I’d say you look like shit, but that’s how you always look”, Al joked. Ivan was naturally as pale as humanly possible, so he basically looked like a corpse at any given time.

 “Mmm…” was the answer, like he hadn’t even heard. He had that thousand yard stare, so it looked like he wasn’t as awake as Al had thought.

 “Come on, baby. Are you even listening.”

Ivan reacted slowly, fixing his violet eyes on Al with much difficulty. Although it seemed he was just simply tired, woken right from REM, rather than hung over. What kind of monster was he anyway? He had drunk even more than Al and been barely affected! And now he didn’t even have the courtesy of sharing the agonizing light sensitivity? Al would have taken even a mild headache as a sign of solidarity.

 “Baby? You’re… that thing before baby… _Plod_.” Well, at least the words were intelligible, and not just various groans and sighs. It was so cute that he tried so hard even when his brain was going so slow it was almost on reverse.

 “Go back to sleep honey, you need it”, Al laughed, stopping short because his headache didn’t appreciate the sudden noise.

 “Yeah, soon”, Ivan mumbled and dropped his head on the table with an audible _bonk_.

They ended up drinking just one cup each, and then going back to bed, leaving the rest to sour. Ivan took the initiative to cuddle, and went out like a light. He was like a toddler woken up for kindergarten. Al drifted in and out of sleep for a long time, despite his eyelids weighing like little elephants.

-_-_-_-_-

The next time they woke, it was to Ivan’s alarm at six thirty, and made proper breakfast. Ivan was also properly awake, and the change in attitude was really noticeable now that Alfred had seen him off guard. First off, he had firmly refused any cuddling in bed, and second, he was smiling politely instead of frowning and blanking honestly. Maybe it was ‘cause of his job, Al couldn’t imagine it was good to show his emotions and thinking openly to criminals. Still, it’d’ve been nice to get honest reactions in a private setting. Well, it’d probably just take a little bit of getting used to, not everyone was blessed with Al’s adaptability.

 “Your accent is all over the place. Can’t you just pick one and stick to it?”

 “Nope”, Al answered with his mouth full of toast before remembering Ivan was one of those neat freaks, but instead Ivan lifted his coffee off the table without the slightest sign of irritation. But better not push it, so Al swallowed the rest before explaining. “I’ve lived all over the place, they all stuck.” He and Mattie had been born in Utah, and moved to Louisiana a few years later, just as they had learned to speak. After that they hadn’t lived in the same state for longer than five years, thanks to their mother’s military career. By the time the boys were old enough to move from home, the wanderlust had stuck to Al. He was always on the move, sometimes already scouting his next home after a week of living in his current. He loved seeing the world and meeting new people. He couldn’t understand where Mattie’s stagnancy came from. After turning 18 he had immediately moved across the border to Canada, and barely left Montreal since. Their father complained constantly about having to gather his family from across the globe for one simple Christmas dinner, even more than he complained about never getting grandkids thanks to gayness running in the family. Their mother preferred not to talk about their kids’ sexuality, but she wasn’t much more comfortable with it. Al figured that was why Mattie wanted to live so far away, he had always been way more sensitive than Al. It wasn’t like their parents were openly judgmental or even unpleasant about it most of the time, but they didn’t really accept it, either. Didn’t stop them from coming to Mattie and Carlos’ wedding and welcoming the groom to the family, though.

  “What did your parents think of you coming out?”

A brief look of panic crossed Ivan’s face, and he seemed to consider the wording of his answer very carefully. So, _not_ well, then. Or maybe he had never come out. Al hoped it was the former, because he was done dating guys in the closet.

 “My parents are dead.”

 “Oh. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

Al wasn’t good at comforting others, but he felt like he needed to make an effort in this case. Ivan’s face was turning paper white and gripping his mug far too tight. Damn, if only he had Mattie’s social skills! He would know what to do!

 “Do… do you want to talk about it?” Al asked awkwardly, unintentionally making sure Ivan wouldn’t take up the offer. He might not have been the sharpest tool in the social smarts shed, but even he knew no one would talk after hearing those words.

 “It was a long time ago. I am fine”, Ivan answered with an unnaturally stiff tone. Obviously he wasn’t, but Al didn’t want to press the issue. They must’ve been really close if Ivan was still so torn up about it. It was a good thing he still had Katie and Nattie. Maybe he should ask them about it, if they knew what would be the best way to help Ivan cope with it.

 “Mine try not to show they don’t accept it”, Al said abruptly, hoping that the change of subject would help steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable zone. “They’re from the South, originally, and that place is still pretty homophobic. What about Russia?”

 “It’s not better, I assure”, Ivan answered nervously, setting down his mostly full cup and hiding his hands from view behind the table – Al could imagine they were wringing. “We’ve only met twice, let’s not talk parents.”

His breathing was turning irregular. Al knew he had to do _something_ , but what? Talking about trauma was best left to therapists, ignoring things would only make it worse, and escaping to the toilet was just cowardly. Al tried to remember how people had acted when _he_ was down, but it was such a once in a blue moon occurrence that the only time he could remember was when Artie had told he was moving back to the UK. It had been such a long time ago and Al had been so upset he couldn’t recall the event well, but he thought he remembered petnames being used, and lots of hugs.

 “Vanya, look…”

Ivan jerked at the use of his nickname and looked at Al with an undecipherable expression. He couldn’t even tell whether it was a positive or a negative look. Hugs were probably a no-go with him in this state, since he didn’t seem to like them all that much even when he _wasn’t_ freaking out. Just… go with honesty? That’s usually good advice for any situation.

 “I like you, and I wanna be there for you, but I don’t know how. So don’t push me away when I try my best.”

Yes, they had only known each other for a grand total of four days, but Al felt a strong connection to Ivan and wanted to know him better. Not only because he was sexy as hell, though it of course worked in his advantage, but because he was _honestly_ an interesting person, without the least bit of exaggeration or flattery. He was sure Ivan felt the same, or he wouldn’t have come to the bar on a weekday and stayed the night without getting laid.

The silence that fell between them was tense. For the first time in a decade Al didn’t know what more to say. He watched hope and doubt alternating on Ivan’s face, and soon disbelief won out.

 “Don’t say things only to look good.” His whole being was tense as a drawn bow.

 “I mean it”, Al assured unwaveringly. “I want you to be well. I care about you.”

Something about it got through to Ivan. Maybe it was the words, maybe it was the conviction they were said with, maybe it was the warm tone. Whatever it was, it made Ivan’s eyes water. He immediately wiped them, and smiled dismissively.

 “Thank you for the offer”, his words polite but his voice strained. “But I am fine. And I need to go. I can’t be late”, Ivan claimed, although the station was only 10 minutes away and it was still 20 to. He stood up with more haste than Al had even seen anyone do.

 “I’ll give you a ride!” he hurried to offer, but Ivan wouldn’t hear another word. Just grabbed his coat without even putting it on, threw on his scarf and fled.

Al supposed he hadn’t handled the matter in the best way possible. He consulted Artie about it, who said he was an idiot for pushing the issue with a practical stranger who hadn’t been comfortable about it. He also made the same point about only having met twice as Ivan had. Gema said most people weren’t as ready to share intimate details about their lives as Al was, but wished him luck. Mattie advised him to apologize and make it _sincere_ , whatever the hell _that_ meant. An apology was always sincere, right? Al’s apologies were always carefully constructed with utmost honesty in mind! It was almost a shame he needed to use them so rarely.

_Sry for this mornign_

_Didnt kno ur so touchy_

_My bad dont be mad?_

They were marked as read an hour later, but a response never came, despite Al’s prodding.

_Thx a bunh mattie_

_Now hes mad atme_

_What did you tell him exactly?_

Al sent a screencap to his useless twin, and it came back as a screaming red F. _Apparently_ he had had made it sound like Ivan was an over-sensitive pussy, which wasn’t true at all! Neither of those things were true! Well, maybe the latter was just a _teeny_ _tiny_ bit true, but never the part about Al being bad at apologies! Still, he admitted Mattie was probably the expert in this case, since he _was_ practically a genuine Canadian by then, so just this once Al could use some tips.

~¨:.:¨~

  _Im sorry, didnt mean to make it sound like u wer at falut_

_I disnt wanna hurt u and rly wanna be there for u_

_U don need to talk abt it ifu don want and ill pay everyth next x if u still wanna meet up_

What had possessed Jones to write these messages? The first ones Ivan could tell were his genuine feelings on the matter, but the latter ones? Someone must have told him what to write, but Jones didn’t seem the type to ask for advice. Having met him only twice, Ivan of course couldn’t be absolutely certain, but Alfred Jones seemed like a narcissistic idiot who would never admit to being wrong. He might have said it to get his way, but always followed by a _but_ , and certainly never _mean_ it. He was a reverse Katyushka: Ivan’s older sister apologized for things she could not possibly be responsible for and meant it every time. Perhaps the two _should_ have hooked up that first time after all. They might have both learned something. And left Ivan out of the mess.

  _Cmon bby don leeve me hagnig_

_I was wrong okay_

_Im sorry_

The message tone kept interrupting the interrogation.

 “Don’t mind it, it’s just someone who refuses to understand”, Ivan smiled innocently at the sweating gentleman opposite to him. He dearly wanted to hear how he was going to explain having the late mister Boyarin’s car keys in his possession. “Your story is most amusing, please do continue.”

 “We – uh, we were – _he_ was drunk, I _just_ meant to safeguard them, I swear!”

 “Mister Stewart, please just tell us what happened. We’re not here to judge, only to investigate.”

Toris’ good cop routine was sickeningly sweet. His style was to win the person’s trust and get more story that way. In Ivan’s opinion it took too long and the results were rarely much better than asking straight on and finding what didn’t fit the narrative. Ivan still let his partner handle this one because the crook was so nervous his story changed every minute regardless, maybe the baby needed a nipple to suckle.

 “W- well, I – I took them, and he – he went off somewhere – he was _one of those types_ if you know what I mean...” the man trailed off awkwardly, and Ivan rolled his eyes. He had a pretty good idea of what the lowlife meant by _that type,_ what with the pro-life tweets he so liked.

 “I’m afraid I don’t, mister Stewart. Would you mind explaining?”

 “Well, you know, he batted for the other team, a cream puff… I wasn’t about to _stay and watch_ , heaven’s sakes! I just stayed there – but, uhh, he – never came back – so I went home-”

Beep.

 “Excuse me”, Ivan chirped.

_Ill make it up to you please just answer_

Jones must have been getting desperate if his grammar was improving this vastly.

Beep.

  _I swear ill do ANYTHING im sorry_

Typing would surely take too long. Ivan was working, there is no time for texting outsiders in the middle of an interrogation. But clearly Jones was not taking the hint, and would only continue this harassment until Ivan responded. A voice message, then.

 “Send me one more message while I am working and I will take a crowbar to your skull until it can no longer be recognized as organic matter.”

With a patient smile Ivan put away the phone and gestured for mister Stewart to continue his recount of the night mister Boyarin had been murdered. Only the poor boy seemed to have lost the red thread of the story. Instead of having met Boyarin at the bar where he was given the car keys to keep safe he was now a neighbor’s friend, who had been given the keys by the neighbor the next day. In no version of the story was he an opportunistic thief who hadn’t been able to sell the car before Boyarin’s corpse had been found.

_I went too far, forgive me. I was simply irritated because you kept interrupting our best source of information._

-_-_-_-_-

For the next three weeks Ivan and Alfred met at a bar a few nights a week. They never returned to Rocker’s, thankfully, and neither did Alfred show as much familiarity with any of the other owners. He also didn’t press Ivan’s odd reaction to being questioned about his parents, which was best for the both of them. However, he soon started using Ivan’s petname, wasn’t deterred by threats, and didn’t mind being called Freddykins in revenge. He didn’t bother keeping social distance in many other aspects, either. He was uncomfortably informal in most respects, acting like their relationship was something more than sex. He always asked about Ivan’s work, and Ivan always relented because the American was so sincerely interested in anything and everything police work entailed, even the security footage, that it felt unnecessarily mean to disappoint him with vagueness. Ivan had half-jokingly invited him to pour over the remaining 170 hours of grainy blackness from the Boyarin case, and he hadn’t even declined! Ivan would have let him too, if he couldn’t have been fired over letting a civilian see classified information. He’d already be in trouble if his boss found out he every now and then forgot to not let Alfred know some details that were never released to the public.

Alfred on the other hand talked more about the people at his work. Ivan almost felt like he knew Jack, Stu, José and all the others he didn’t care to meet. None of them sounded interesting – Jack was a bore, Stu shut up even less than Alfred, José treated everyone like helpless babies. Increasingly often Ivan found himself kissing Alfred just to shut him up about his friends for a few moments, since he often forgot Ivan had nothing invested in Alfred’s social life and thus didn’t waste his time listening about it.

They kept exchanging insults, a few times taking it a step too far and turning it into a real argument. Those times they had agreed to part ways for the night, since Ivan didn’t trust himself to not strangle the infuriating American idiot who only had one thought in his echoing head at a time and couldn’t add double digits in his head. Despite this, they quickly grew closer and their dates became longer each time. Usually they ended up at Alfred’s apartment for the sex, because he complained Ivan’s apartment was colder than a freezer and his toes would snap clean off if he stayed the night – he liked bruises and scratches, but drew the line at losing body parts. It wasn’t proper dating, but something akin to it. One might have even said things were going… _well_.

So of course disaster had to strike.

 “This is the first time he’s tried to hide the body this well…” Toris muttered. True, but who cared? Ivan glared at the beaten and strangled young man, fully blaming the body of Alexis Dubois for ruining his date night. Just a _couple hours_ later, was that really _so_ much asked? Ivan wouldn’t have minded working _after_ drinking.

 “This is bullshit”, he complained. Childish, yes. And yes, he _did_ regret saying it out loud.

 “What’s bullshit is your work!” his boss countered. “You’ve been working the case for almost a year and so far you’ve had _three_ suspects, all with foolproof alibies!”

Josie Welder was a woman of straight words. And while she was completely right, and had every right to be pissed, she could get on Ivan’s nerves like a motherfucker.

_Looks like I will be busy for a few days, we might have to wait until Saturday_ , Ivan texted Alfred.

So they searched the place top to bottom, finding nothing, they got real familiar with the body, finding nothing, _of course_ , because good old BK was nothing if not the undisputed king of hiding evidence. Every corpse was just one big bruise by the time he was through, which took long by the way, since he liked strangling people in and out of consciousness. He’d play with his prey for hours. Despite the prolonged attacks there was never any usable DNA evidence, odd noises heard by neighbors, strangers seen in the vicinity of the victim… The man was simply a genius. Every single kill was meticulously planned to absolute perfection.

Ivan couldn’t wait to interview the family.

~¨:.:¨~

Al rarely read the news, he didn’t want to know about all the bad stuff going on. But now that he was kinda dating the lead detective in the Baton killer case, he figured he should know _something_ about it.

And something was all he would know for now. The police were keeping things hush-hush, the victim wasn’t even named in the article. All the article told was that this male was already the 8th confirmed victim, and there were a few from 2013 they suspected were also his work. Then it started bashing the police department for not catching the guy. It wasn’t a pretty read. There were few articles that didn’t at least mention how clueless the police were about this case. The reporters really liked to point out how long this guy had been at it and how there had been barely any suspects, calling it laziness and sloppy detective work. Al almost always sided with the police, and in this case he _knew_ the reporters were full of shit. Vanya had told him the reason the serial killer was still at large was because he left behind zero evidence of anything. He said it was like chasing a ghost. It wasn’t because of lazy police work.

_Looks like I will be busy for a few days_ was an optimistic estimate. Vanya would be swamped with work for at least a week, for sure. Of course Al was disappointed, he really looked forward to each of their dates, but he figured it was more important to get on the trail before it got cold.

  _S ok bae c u sat_ , Al replied. It was received, but not read until five hours later, and never replied to. They really were working him like a horse.

 “What’s got you looking so down?”

Ah, José, the mom of the workplace.

 “My boyfriend had to cancel our date because he’s busy at work. New Baton killer victim.”

 “ _Joder_. Can’t they catch that monster already? My daughter goes to the same school as one of the victims! I never know if she’s gonna come home in one piece!”

 “They’re doing their best!” Al argued. “It’s kinda hard to follow evidence when there isn’t any!”

According to Vanya, do far the only things they knew so far was that the killer was most likely a man, who had a thing for suffocating and beating his victims. There may or may not be a sexual element to it, but no semen had been found on any of the bodies. Actually, there wasn’t even any DNA evidence at all because the killer knew how to hide and clean everything. How were the cops supposed to catch something that might as well have been invisible?

-_-_-_-_-

In the end, they had to push the date to next Tuesday. Vanya had said he’d walk out of the station at 5 pm sharp even if BK himself came down to turn himself in. Al wanted to do something nice to the poor, stressed guy so he did some research online and bought an overpriced bottle of some super fancy vodka. Not that Vanya would have turned down crap brand vodka, but it was the thought that counted. The original plan had been to go out and get a good dinner at a restaurant, but after hearing how tired Vanya had sounded on the phone on Monday, he had suggested staying in. He had even agreed to coming to Vanya’s place, since the man was more comfortable there. Man, he really was the greatest boyfriend ever! Quality booze, a caring heart, _and_ amazing looks? What was he, the end of the rainbow?

He parked his car on the sidewalk a little past 6. The front door lock was busted, had been the whole time, so he didn’t use the buzzer. The elevator was also scarily old, and Vanya’s place was only on the sixth floor, so he braved the stairs, he was in good shape so he wasn’t sweating and panting ugly by the time he got to his door. He rang the bell, but no one opened the door, so he rang again. When nothing happened that time either, he called Vanya’s phone. Had he been forced into overwork after all? He hadn’t said anything.

No, his phone rang inside. It rang five times, then Vanya’s extremely tired voice answered with a simple “ _Da_?”.

 “I’m behind the door.”

 “Ah?” was the reply, and could only be the Russian equivalent of Huh?.  As eloquent as Vanya was awake, the man had zombie-level enunciation when woken.

 “I rang your doorbell but you didn’t come to open”, Alfred elaborated. The poor guy must’ve been taking a nap because he was exhausted after the straight week of working sunup to sundown.

 “Ah, sorry”, Vanya mumbled and cut the call. He stumbled to the front door, and as Al predicted, looked like a bear still in hibernation. It would probably never stop amazing him how unguarded and disheveled the man could look. He was always so cool and sharp once awake. Now he was a soft kitty cat. He collapsed back on the sofa, where Alfred gave him a soft kiss.

 “Rough week?”

Vanya didn’t answer in words, only nodded and reached for Al’s hand with his eyes closed. Al pushed him a little further to the back rest to make room, and sat down. Vanya was in no shape for drinking tonight, so he’d save the vodka for another time. Al pet his lover’s hand and hair, waiting for him to wake up a little more maybe, he wasn’t really sure. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t in the mood for a rough roll in the hay, but he could settle for cuddly movie night if that was out of the question, but by the looks of it the only thing Vanya was up for was snoring.

 “Maybe we should make it an early night”, Al suggested.

 “Gimme a moment...”

 “Babe, you’ve had a long week and you only have tomorrow off. You really should get some sleep.”

Vanya was silent for a while, then grumpily agreed that maybe it was a good idea. Al gave him a quick hug and sent him off to bed, promising to follow him soon.

While Vanya snoozed away in his cozy nest, Al turned up the thermostat and set to making himself dinner. Evidently Vanya hadn’t had time to cook properly, since there wasn’t even a single potato in the fridge, only TV dinners in the freezer. Promising to get the poor baby a new one, he heated one up and took a look at the folder bursting at its seams on the kitchen table.

It was full of newspaper clippings. Articles about BK dating back to June 2013. Like Vanya had obsessively collected every piece of news about BK that had been ever published. Not just that – also his own notes, written in both Russian and English, timeline drafts, names, previous lead detectives and officers assigned to the case…

On the top was one from today. Not _front_ page news, but still a whole spread. The latest victim’s name had finally been revealed to the public, so the case was getting even more attention than a few days ago. Mostly it was rage against the police department, and now they were starting to call names. Vanya got a lot of shit thrown at him, being the lead detective in a well-known case that had gone unsolved for almost two years.

 “Jesus, did you have to include pictures...” Al muttered. He’d be seeing that mashed up body in his nightmares for weeks. He had seen a few burnt bodies thanks to his work, but these… Beaten so badly they barely had any healthy skin left, then slashed open with knives… No wonder Vanya was messed up. And the pressure from higher up sure didn’t help.

It might be for the best to let Vanya enjoy some peace. He was constantly telling Al he was needy and being around him was like being tied to stampede.

And, well, yeah, Al guessed that could be true, at least sometimes.

Taking a peek in the bedroom, where Vanya was in deep sleep swaddled in his duvet, Al figured he’d leave a note on the nightstand and go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Alfred is the type of person who uses a lot of text speak and doesn’t bother correcting minor typos even if he notices them. As long as the message is understood lol it okey  
> As a side note, I was editing this when I noticed I accidentally once referred to Al as Albert:D
> 
> Plod(Плoд): fetus  
> Da(Да): yes (I’d be very surprised if you didn’t know this already, but for the sake of uniformity...)
> 
> Chapter name comes from Capsize by DELS.


	5. That Sweet Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: heaps upon heaps of self-hate, CONSENSUAL rape fantasy, CONSENSUAL light bdsm and dominance.
> 
> Al briefly fantasizes about CONSENSUAL rape(does that even make sense?), if it makes you uneasy skip to the next paragraph. There’s also a an explicitly CONSENSUAL rape-y sex scene(again a collaboration with the friend from ch 3) marked with ***** asterisks as always – BUT!!! As with the first chapter, it’s plot-important so at least skim it so you get the main idea.
> 
> Co-authors, please, I need co-authors… TT^TT Chapter 6 has been coming along kinda nicely, but remember when I said that ch 5 was almost complete and then took two months to finish it? Yeah, I doubt 6 will be ready by summer… I have a teaser on [my tumblr](https://linssikeittomies.tumblr.com/hereandtheremaster) though, might put up a few others as time passes.

It was midnight, at least Ivan thought so, it was too dark to see the clock. He climbed up on the concrete chair to reach his hands on the clock face – long hand up and short hand up, it was midnight. Mama had taught him how to tell the time, she was so wise, she knew everything. She even knew where Ivan came from. The basement was silent, he was alone in the house, like he was supposed to be. The smell of wet earth surrounded him, he felt like he belonged. His fingers hurt, he breathed into them. He watched his breath cloud, the swirling smoke escape from between his fingers, and gather onto the ceiling, painting it white. Ivan settled on the floor and leaned on the wall, staring up at the ceiling creeping closer. The dirt walls had been soft, but with the coldness they had frozen and turned hard, icicles burrowing into his back.

His fingers and toes hurt, so he wrapped his scarf around them. It was no use, there wasn’t enough warmth in Ivan to trap in it. He was hungry. He was tired. Upstairs had everything he wanted. It was warm. It had the kitchen. It had beds. He tried to toy with his hood to forget about what he wanted, but his fingers were too stiff. They slipped off the coarse fabric. It was so cold, and it shouldn’t have bothered him, but it was fast becoming the only thing in his mind. He tried to convince himself that nothing would break from just this one time, but only managed somewhat – he longed for and dreaded the upstairs. With trembling arms he carefully picked up his backpack from the floor and set it on his back, then started slowly feeling his way around the walls of the numerous rooms. He got lost many times, and had to squeeze through many tiny doorways, it took hours until he made it to the base of the stairs, the faint lights from the cracks of the door letting him just barely make out the outline of the steps. Settling on all fours, the heavy backpack spilling its books over his head, he crawled up the long stairs, the long, long stairs, his fingers nearly snapping off in the endeavor. He was more than exhausted when he finally dragged himself up to the landing, the thumping of his heart the only sound in the choking silence. Holding his breath, he quietly pressed his ear against the wooden door, and listened intently for a long time. He couldn’t hear anyone, so he peeked carefully from the cracks to make sure no one was in the house. He saw that the golden, brightly lit home was empty, so he slowly cracked open the door and sneaked through. It creaked loudly when he did, but he didn’t dare leave it open while he was trespassing, so he closed it after him despite it making the same incriminating noise. Crouching down he creeped onwards. The lights were turned off in the hallway, only the dim lights from the kitchen were his guide. Mama’s baby’s breaths and carnations drying to brown paper as he sneaked past them, the petals dropping on to the floor behind him, sinking into the ground. In the corner of the kitchen, he peeked in to make sure it was empty. It was dark and abandoned, Ivan’s cloudy breath the only source of color. He looked out the window, only to see a raging snowstorm instead of the expected field of sunflowers.

 “Where’s mother?” Katyusha asked, mouth smiling wide and her breath smelling like fresh flowers. Ivan looked in the bedroom, but she wasn’t there. Where was she? Where’s mother? Katyusha was crying, tearing open her long braid and searching for the scissors, because she looked too much like mother. If she looked like herself, she wouldn’t be in danger.

 “WHERE’S YOUR MOTHER.”

_Alfred!_

_Oh God where was Alfred?!_ His side was empty -

Ivan woke with a sharp gasp, his hands instantly flying to Alfred’s side of the bed, only to find it devoid of a body. Had he -

No, that was ridiculous, it had been a one-time thing, and he hadn’t wanted to do it even then! To even think he would ever _consider_ -

But the thought had never crossed his mind _then_ , either -

He _had_ to be safe – he was Alfred, he had no relation to Ivan, so there was no reason – yes, he was _safe_ , that was the logical explanation. He had finally tired of Ivan, the only surprise there was that it had taken longer than a week. Alfred had found a new distraction, and that was for the best, for the both of them. Before Ivan did anything to him. If he would even be able to – Alfred was much stronger than anyone he had ever met, physically and mentally, he wouldn’t let anything happen to himself, he would stop Ivan in time if anything ever happened – for sure he would, he could handle Ivan, couldn’t he? But - what if he was caught by surprise? In his sleep? He _had_ come to bed, right? He had come to Ivan’s apartment, and he had been there when Ivan fell asleep, but then why wasn’t he there anymore? Had – no, he couldn’t remember – _he had to know_ -

No, Alfred was a grown man who loved his sleep. If he had a single brain cell left in that empty cavern of his he called a skull he would have put his phone on silent for the night. He wouldn’t answer even if the president called. It was pointless to even think about, pointless to pick up the phone and find Alfred’s number. Because Alfred should have his phone on silent, if he was smart human being. But Ivan knew better than that – Alfred always had his sound on, in case of emergencies. This did not count as an emergency. It was just Ivan being stupid, clingy and irrational thanks to a childish nightmare. _Podsolnukh_ would only laugh in his face. Calling him over something like this was such a phenomenally inane idea it should never have crossed Ivan’s mind, even as a joke.

He pressed call. It rang four times.

 “Hey babe”, Alfred muttered annoyed, having been woken from deep sleep at three in the morning thanks to an infantile panic attack over something less than nothing.

 “You’re okay”, Ivan blurted out, regretting it as the words tumbled out of his traitorous mouth when his brain had prepared a similar sentiment with much more grace. “I mean of course you are, I’m glad.” Damn it, he needed to get his brain back on track, if he kept using this many contractions, soon even Alfred would notice something was off, dumb as he was.

 “Are _you_ though? You’re sounding kinda weird.”

Alfred was only observant when it was inconvenient for Ivan. It was easily his worst trait.

 “I’m fine” Ivan hurried to claim. There really was no need to drag Alfred into this, this was stupid, functioning adults don’t freak out over nightmares. Ivan was the crown prince of neediness and unnecessary drama, who did he think he was fooling with his mature adult act? He and everyone else knew what he was inside. It was impossible _not_ to see what he was – a more obvious fake was hard to imagine, and yet he clung onto the act for dear life, when he damn well knew _fake it till you make it_ was an impossibility in his case.

 “Want me to come over?”

And let Alfred see him in this condition? He’d rather review all the security footage in the state second by second. He would _never_ let Alfred see the pathetic mess he could become just from a simple nightmare. He was an adult for fuck’s sake, he should be above this childish behavior, and yet just a bit of stress could render him all but useless in everything, even more so than he usually was. First graders handled stress better than he did, and they could barely write their own names! There was no need for Alfred to bother with Ivan, the sooner he found a new boy toy the better. Every second he wasted on Ivan’s gloomy pretentiousness was a second he would never get back.

 “Vanya? Want me to come over?”

 “Y – I - don’t. Go back to bed, this is ridiculous. I’m sorry I woke you. Good night.”

 “Wait!”

In reality Ivan hadn’t even lowered the phone from his ear, despite fully intending to end this foolish call before more damage could be done. But how was it any news that he couldn’t do anything right?

 “Yes?”

 “I’ll come see you first thing in the morning. Now get some sleep. I love you.”

Even fully aware that Alfred didn’t mean those words, his heart froze over in panic and pumped the ice into his system, replacing oxygen with liquid nitrogen, organs failing, his lungs constricted and twisted around his esophagus, strangling him from the inside, bile gathering in his stomach and burning holes in the lining, dissolving his guts, he crumbled down on the floor under the weight of his foul soul, burdened with deceit and malice, a black hole of greed.

 “You barely know me.”

He hung up and turned off the phone before Alfred could call back. He didn’t want to talk – because it was true, Alfred barely knew Ivan, he had only been allowed a glimpse at the frozen surface, the whirlpools of madness and evil concealed, kept all to himself, under the thick, clouded sheet of ice. No one knew the extent of Ivan’s malice, even he himself could be surprised by the viciousness of his thoughts on a bad day, by the itch to wrench his fingers around something frail and break it. Alfred did not know him in the least, the deep waters in him were not still, every part of him was the more dangerous part. If he allowed himself to fooled, one day Alfred would meet his end at Ivan’s hand, whether quietly with dignity, or raging with resistance, but he would not be able to stop it. Neither of them would be. Like with _her_ – her pleading resistance had mattered less than nothing to him, he had never stopped to think there was another solution, so obvious in hindsight but it hadn’t mattered at the moment because he hadn’t _wanted_ anything else -

Turning on the lights to chase away the images in the dark, Ivan noticed a piece of paper on the nightstand, folded in half with a heart doodled on the top. Inside, Alfred’s bubbly handwriting informed him that he had been so tired that Alfred had thought it best to let him sleep in peace. Oddly thoughtful of him, it wasn’t often that Alfred put someone else’s best interests before his own whims, because he earnestly thought he was so great he counted as the best interest of everyone. Ivan wanted to imagine this had been the first time he had stopped and thought about it hard instead of going with his first instinct, but that kind of thinking was dangerous – at this rate, they would both be hurt bad by the end of this affair and it wasn’t something Ivan was looking forward to. Alfred had wormed his way into Ivan’s rotten heart and turned himself into an entity Ivan did not wish to see in pain. Before, he had thought the only space left in the husk had been for Katyushka and Tashenka, but in barely a month Alfred Jones, the infuriatingly American ball of cheer and oblivious self-importance had proven Ivan was still capable of affection for someone on the outside. He could not say whether that was a good thing or not – of course it didn’t make him any less of a monster, but perhaps it was a faint crack in a mighty wall.

This was why he didn’t drive Alfred away when he came pounding on the door.

~¨:.:¨~

Al hadn’t been sure if he should have let Ivan work it out by himself, since he was so hung up on doing everything alone, or go there and comfort the idiot since he had sounded so distressed. The whole time they’d been dating Ivan never admitted to having any weak points, even when they were _glaringly_ obvious, and acted like he was great every second of the day. And yeah, he usually _was_ , but ever since the panic attack he’d had when Al mentioned parents, it had been clear that there was something wrong with his attic. The way he had sounded on the phone had been almost as panicked as he had been on that morning, and it offended Al that Ivan wouldn’t even consider taking comfort in his boyfriend. _He_ would expect Ivan to show some affection and hug his fears away in a similar situation. It’s what boyfriends do! He had been _so_ offended, in fact, that he had planned to just go back to sleep and see Ivan in the morning, once he would be back to normal! But then he had to go and sound like he was crying, and turn off his phone like some angsty teenager. So there Al was, freezing his butt off in the winter night driving to bae’s, where the thermostat would be set to negative Fahrenheits.

Thank God the landlord was such a lazy bastard, if the front door lock worked Al would’ve had to use the buzzer, and Al wasn’t too sure Ivan would have let him in. If he was already inside he would be much harder to ignore. He rang the doorbell, and just as he had feared, Ivan didn’t open. Time to escalate things.

 “Ivan! I’m here, open up!” Al started with reasonable volume, because everyone else had to be asleep, and rang a little more decisively.

 “You’ll wake everyone up”, Ivan hissed from behind the closed door. His voice sounded a little better than it had on the phone, but of course that was like saying stepping on dogshit is a little better than stepping on human shit.

 “Well you better open up then!” Al challenged as he knocked the door with slightly more force than necessary. Ivan sighed deep and muttered something with too many S’s under his breath before opening the safety chain. As if Al had needed any more proof that something was off, Ivan _never_ used it. Al tried to give him a questioning look as he opened the door, but Ivan evaded it by immediately turning his back and going to the kitchen. Al stopped to turn the thermostat up a good ten degrees, as he always did, before following his boyfriend. Ivan tried to look annoyed – probably, it was difficult to tell because his eyes were more haunted than anything else. He was already fully dressed, and had something on the stove. _Unbelievable_ , this man was _actively_ driving himself to an early grave by way of starving himself of sleep! Simply put, he looked _horrible_. His normally corpse-pale skin had an additional gray tone to it, and of course those huge, dark bags under the glazed eyes that refused to look at Al added no charm. He could imagine that under those thick clothes the stupid giant had also lost some weight.

 “Jesus Christ man, _go to bed_! You’ve had like a wink of sleep the whole week and now that it’s your day off you’re cooking in the middle of the night!”

 “I don’t need to sleep”, the petulant child claimed. And yet he didn’t resist at all when Al turned off the stove and shoved the stubborn mule in the bedroom. Neither did he object to being undressed – three sweaters and _two pairs of jeans_ , how had he even _managed_ that -  and guided under the covers, and once in bed, the floodgates opened. With his head nestled in the crook of Vanya’s neck, Al soothingly pet the other’s back and found himself unable to stay mad. It takes a lot to make a grown man cry, and when it’s someone as closed-off as Vanya, even Al could understand the turmoil going on under the surface.

 “Tell me what’s wrong”, he asked softly, vowing in his mind to punch the living daylights out of every single reporter that had ever said anything but the highest praise of Vanya, because he was pretty sure this was all due to being bashed left, right and center for the last week. Al had even put a lid on the insult game after Vanya had hung up on him on Saturday for being called a walking dead.

Vanya choked out an “I don’t want to hurt you”, which left Al baffled because he didn’t recall ever being hurt by Vanya, unless he was referring to the rough sex they _both_ liked.

 “Hey, I survived our first time, didn’t I? You can’t really hurt me worse than that”, he laughed, but the lack of an answer made him think that maybe it had been the wrong reaction. Going for something a little more serious, he cleared his throat. “Baby, I promise you can’t hurt me. You know I don’t just let people treat me however they want. Whatever you do to me, it’s because I want you to”, he elaborated to let Vanya know he really _was_ into the stuff they did in bed, weird as it was. He really _did_ enjoy being put down and manhandled, the closer it got to borderline rape, the better it was.

 “Whatever happens, don’t let me hurt you.”

 “Honey, why do you think you’d ever hurt me? You’re a soft lil’ teddy bear, and I’m a big strong firefighter. I promise you won’t be able to hurt me, baby.”

The answer was a soft attempt of a chuckle, and Vanya began the long process of calming down. The thing that seemed to help him the best was reminding him that Al was both physically and mentally stronger than the Russian. After a while he asked to be the small spoon, and eventually fell asleep curled into a ball, and all his fingers laced with Al’s.

Al wasn’t used to taking care of others. His type was confident go-getters, someone high-maintenance like Vanya was a new experience to him. He wasn’t sure if he liked it – he could handle a breakdown like this every now and then, but what if it would be a recurring thing? What if he did something wrong? Vanya was so delicate, even if he pretended not to be. He was so worried about hurting Al, but honestly, the one who was way more likely to be broken here was Vanya. He had panicked over a casual question about his parents, and then cried over stress. Would it be okay to keep going the way they had been? Al wasn’t about to change for anyone, but losing Vanya was also a hit he wasn’t willing to take. If push came to shove, which would he choose? Was it too early to say? Should he ask Mattie? He and Carlos had waited 2 years until moving together because that was how long it had taken for them to be sure of each other, but Al had only been with Vanya for a month and already might have said yes to marrying him. His longest relationship before this had lasted six months, but it had been lousy with problems. Greg had been jealous as hell and Al finally got fed up with him wanting to control both their lives. At no point had he even considered staying with the guy, it had just been something to help him over the dry season in Lincoln. With Vanya, he had struck gold in his first three weeks in the city! They just fit so well together, even if Vanya wasn’t totally healthy, would Al really throw that all away? Of course not! Yeah, he’d help Vanya get better! That’s what love was about! Supporting one another in sickness and in health! And if Al ever got sick, Vanya would help him in turn! And while they were both healthy, they would have all the fun they could cram in their lives! Great plan! Al should make more plans. He was the best at plans. He should tell Vanya all about this one when he woke up! They could fine-tune it together at breakfast. Since Vanya was so down, Al would make pancakes. Too bad Vanya didn’t have any syrup in the apartment, but nothing a quick run to the store couldn’t fix! There was a small cornerstore pretty close, he’d run there while Vanya had his coffee. Wait! Why not make it a _breakfast in bed,_ the best thing since sliced bread! And Vanya really deserved it too, the poor baby had pulled five 14-hour shifts in a row and there was no telling when his next break would be. Today Al would pamper Vanya until he turned into a spoiled little brat! Breakfast in bed, second greatest pancakes known to mankind, foot massages, then some stress relief sex, God knew they both needed it, and it was bound to be amazing. Vanya had been gathering frustration and anger all week, a good pounding was just what they both needed, maybe they could improvise some rope this time, even…

No no no, back up on that, he couldn’t start getting excited while Vanya was still asleep. He was never in the mood in the mornings, he always needed at least one cup of coffee before being up for _anything_ , and even then it was rarely the kind of stuff that got them both off. Just light nibbling and slow sex, not the violent fucking that drove them both wild. _Sometimes_ Al could get Vanya awake enough by blowing him hard first, and then teasing him until he got angry. But he didn’t like doing that, Vanya’s cock was so huge it was hard to fit in his mouth. He _might_ get into it a bit more if Vanya ordered him to, maybe grabbed him by the hair with a bit of force and told him to be a good boy and suck, maybe him lounging on a chair and Al on his knees on the floor…  Then he _might_ have struggled a bit, just for show, to get those fingers really pulling, force him to take it in to the hilt, praising him for a job well done, then being dragged up to his lap and fucked from behind, choked when he made too much noise, yeah, he could really go for that right now…

Oh c’mon brain, stop making up scenarios! He _really_ didn’t need wet dreams when Vanya was too tired to even stand up.

-_-_-_-_-

He woke up with raging morning wood. _Figured_. Vanya didn’t comment on it, though he must’ve felt it against his thigh. He looked a lot better than he had at night – the bags might not have been gone, but at least his expression was back to the usual politeness. Al kept forgetting how _distant_ he was, and then something would happen to break the mask. He still wouldn’t even use a petname for Al! It made him feel like so old, being called _Alfred_ , such a grandpa name.

 “Morning, baby.”

 “ _Dobroye utro._ ”

 “Feeling better?”

 “You are blowing it out of proportion. It was simply a nightmare caused by stress.”

Ivan always did that, badly acted like everything was fine when it was clear as day _a lot_ was wrong.

 “You can trust me, y’know? Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll help.”

 “Nothing’s wrong. It’s only your hero complex seeing something that doesn’t exist.”

 “Baby, look me in the eye.”

He didn’t. He scoffed dismissively and got up, putting on only one layer of clothes, and went to frown at the cold pot left on the stove.

 “You ruined my _shchi_ ”, he complained, trying to make everything look normal. No breakfast in bed today.

 “Baby.”

Ivan pretended not to hear. He started making breakfast in passive-aggressive silence.

 “Honey.”

He wouldn’t hear any of it. Al counted to ten, trying to remember that Ivan was a more complicated person than he was, who maybe he had a mental illness, and talking wasn’t easy for him. They’d been together for a month, and Al still knew jack shit about his boyfriend. Only his profession, that he had two sisters, and he acted like everything was hunky-dory when he was a minute away from crumbling into dust. With a frustrated sigh Al got up to say a few selected words.

 “Darling.”

 “ _What_!” Ivan snapped at him, but the look in his eyes was less anger and more fear. Getting angry was his defense mechanism – poor Vanya, who thought he couldn’t accept help from anyone. Slowly wrapping his arms around the scared giant, Al squeezed him tight and leaned his head against the chest, where Vanya’s heart beat fast and erratically.

 “Vanya, don’t push me away when I want to help you. I love you.”

 “ _Don’t say that_!” Vanya wheezed in a terrified gasp, but didn’t try to push Al off him. “You don’t even know me!”

 “Only because you won’t _let_ me!” Al countered in frustration. “You never talk about yourself! Let me know you. I don’t ever want to see you again like you were last night, it would break my heart. Please tell me what’s wrong, so I can help.”

Vanya was silent for so long Al believed he was ignoring the request, but he refused to back down, so he kept hugging the communist bastard. After a few minutes he answered the hug much more gently, as just a light pet on his back.

 “Are you sure?” Vanya finally asked, all quiet and insecure. Al retreated just enough to look him in the eye, keeping his arms firmly on Vanya’s waist to prevent him from escaping.

 “Yeah.”

 “It’s not something you can fix.”

 “You can’t know until I try! And even if it doesn’t work, I’ll help you cope with it. Seeing you like this is the worst I’ve ever felt in my life.”

That sad little smile was the most honest one Al had ever seen from Vanya.

 “Thank you. The best way you can help is to just be yourself. You’re safe because you’re so strong, it feels like nothing can break you.”

 “Nothing _can_ break me!” Al announced proudly. He knew he’d get through to Vanya eventually! “For starters, young man! Get your butt back in bed, ‘cuz _I’m_ making breakfast today! You’ll be spoiled like the firstborn grandchild today. I’m making pancakes!”

Vanya let out a benign chuckle and reminded Al that he was four years older, and _so much_ of the stress had vanished from his face. It was almost like last night had never happened. They ended up making breakfast together, and eating their pancakes at the table, with jam instead of syrup because neither was on the mood to brave the hail outside, even for sinfully delicious treats. Vanya’s mood improved so much he even made a few jokes! Al caught him smiling shyly a few times. When they curled up on the couch for their long overdue movie marathon, Vanya didn’t object to being lied on. Halfway through Pacific Rim he even started absently playing with Al’s hair! Convinced that things were back to normal, Al let his fantasies from the night drift back onto the surface.

“Do you like mister Pentecost that much?” Vanya joked.

 “A man in uniform is my only weakness”, Al winked. “Or, well, not _only_. I think I got a thing for big guys with tight asses, too.” Wink wink.

 “You have never tried my ass.”

 “C’mon, with a dick like yours of course you’d always top!”

 “I suppose.”

 “You know who could use a top right now?”

 “Your eyebrows will stick to the ceiling if you keep going like that”, Vanya chuckled, violet eyes sparkling.

 “You know who’s been a bad boy?” Al purred into Vanya’s ear, whose response was more amused than anything else, but at least he followed Al’s lead to the bedroom, and answered to the heated kisses. They made it all the way to the bed until Al remembered.

 

 

*****

 

 “Wait! We gotta find some rope first!”

 “Rope? Normal people don’t have rope lying around in their homes, Alfred.”

 “Not _literal_ rope, you asshat! Just something to tie me up with.”

Vanya stared at him blankly for a few seconds before blushing shyly. Al winked and waggled his eyebrows. “So you got something, big boy?”

 “Ties?”

 “Great! Show me the goods!”

Vanya obediently went to his dresser and pulled open the topmost drawer.

 “Jeez, for a guy who never wears a tie you sure got a lot of ‘em”, Al laughed, and Vanya hummed in non-committal embarrassment. And so many different kinds, too!  Cotton, silk, solid, checkered, skinny, wide, in most colors of the rainbow. They filled the whole drawer! At least they weren’t all neatly folded and arranged, or Al would have had to think there was something seriously wrong with the guy. Al dug in and eventually settled on a sky-blue wool argyle one. He threw it carelessly on his shoulders because he didn’t know how tie one properly, he always used a clip-on. And since it was going to be around his wrists in a minute anyway, who cared?

Other than Vanya, that is, apparently. He clicked his tongue and deftly knotted their makeshift bondage equipment on Al’s neck.

 “It really ought to be paired with something other than a Metallica t-shirt”, Vanya mumbled, but seemingly pleased, judging by the gentle tug he gave to the tie.

 “You’re gonna see it paired with nothing soon enough!” Al winked, and Vanya didn’t try very hard to hide his snort. He followed Al to the bed, let himself be dragged down on top of Al, never fully letting go of the tie, but being careful not to pull on it.

“You know you want to”, Al purred slyly, egging him on, because he knew Ivan needed this maybe even more than Al did. “Make me your prison bitch, detective.”

 “You don’t shut up enough to be a prison bitch”, Ivan chuckled mockingly, toying with the tie and pulling it just a tad tighter.

 “Then maybe you should make me.”

 “You couldn’t control yourself with a gun to the head”, Vanya smirked, again tightening the tie a little more.

 “Could, too!”

 “We might have to gag you”, Vanya smirked, the jerk bitch. Al had made his attitude towards gagging clear on their second time, and Vanya never stopped teasing him about it.

 “Do _anything_ else! Swear to fucking God, you bring that thing anywhere _near_ my mouth and I’m getting you a chastity belt!”

That didn’t have the desired effect. Ivan only burst into laughter.

 “I’m serious! You _know_ I could do it! The only thing you got against me is height!” And as impressive as that height was, it was only that – when put against pure muscle it meant nothing. Al pulled off his shirt to make sure Vanya saw what he was up against. “Feel these abs!” Al commanded, flexing. Vanya loved feeling up his muscles, so he took no time to obey the command, with both hands. “Try anything funny and I’ll push you to the floor with these biceps! You’d be helpless and you know it!”

 “That’s what you keep saying, but have yet to prove it”, Ivan said distractedly, his hands traveling upwards. Would’ve felt nice if they weren’t so fucking _cold_.

 “Fuck! Start from the neck!”

Vanya obeyed, warming up his hands on Al’s neck, absently fiddling with the tie. He let Al worry about unbuttoning both their pants. Vanya said he was impatient – Al said he knew what he wanted. And that was Vanya’s cock. The size still surprised him every time, limp he wasn’t _that_ out of the ordinary, but seeing him hard would scare a lesser man. Al liked feeling it beforehand, mapping out the silky skin and veins, get it half-mast before beginning in earnest. Pulling back the foreskin, earning a shudder and a breathy moan from Vanya, and feeling the necktie tightening yet again – just enough to start hindering Al’s breathing. Al used his other hand to pull down the offender’s jeans and boxers. He slid his thumb roughly over the slit, almost surprised to feel precum already leaking out.

 “Wow, you really _did_ need this as bad as I did”, Al laughed as Vanya threw away the pants pooling at his knees. He rolled his eyes and shut Al up with tongue. His hands shifted to roam over Al’s back, digging into each groove. Al was in no mood for that, so he quickly threw off his own pants, and when Vanya failed to take the hint, grabbed one hand and shoved it at his junk. Ivan gave it a few half-hearted strokes, like he was distracted by something.

 “Babe, I get the feeling you’re not concentrating here”, Al whined.

 “I’m just thinking…”

 “You’re not supposed to think in bed! You’re supposed to just bang me!”

 “That’s what we always do, and you like it, because no one could force you into anything you don’t want…”

 “Uh-huh! Some have tried, but never succeeded!” Al boasted, and Vanya blushed a tad more.

 “I just thought… I might like to try it, too…”

Uhhh… Well, that was new. Vanya had never suggested switching positions before, and Al had a _really_ hard time believing Ivan would submit like that. He was all about domination, force and sadism. He didn’t seem like the type to bottom in _any_ situation, much less let himself be controlled like a sub. But the embarrassed flush on his face said he was at least curious enough for a test drive. Al had to be the first he could trust like that.

That was a kind of a turn-on, actually. And while Al much preferred to bottom, he liked to consider himself pretty flexible. This would be far from the first time he would be the dom. Yeah! He’d make sure Vanya loved it!

 “Okay! Any wishes?”

 “Do whatever I usually do to you”, Ivan mumbled quietly, looking to the side. God, it should’ve been illegal for an adult male to be this _adorable_! His cheeks were basically begging to be pinched! “I’ve never done it like this before, so I don’t really know what I like...”

 “Sure thing baby!” Al assured, and sprang to sit up and hug the stupidly cute, huge man. “No worries, you’re in good hands! We need to set up a safeword for when you _actually_ don’t want something, okay? Wanna use mine?”

 “There is no way I will ever call Hamburglar’s name in bed, in any context”, Vanya deadpanned, or at least tried to, his blush took all the impact away.

 “Hmm… Well it shouldn’t be anything too complicated so you can say it even if you’re overwhelmed or out of breath.”

 “ _Starik_.”

 “Mm, that’s a bit too close to _stop_ , I think. I’m gonna get them confused.”

 “Then… _Margaritka_?”

 ”That should do fine. You’re not a margarita type of guy so it’s out of character.”

 “Alright, _margaritka_. Remember it, and don’t stop for any other reason.”

 “Sure, sure.”

 “I mean it. For _any_ other reason.”

The look in Vanya’s eyes was a challenge. Al couldn’t understand why he was so adamant about that, unless he was just making sure Al wouldn’t feel uncertain about going on. It wasn’t like he knew about his earlier sex life, he must’ve thought this would be his first time as a dom. Well, he’d see soon enough.

 “I promise. Now get rid of that sweater already.”

Despite the other’s confident words, Al didn’t want to traumatize him by going full prison rape right away, so he started slowly, by simply applying less force into Ivan’s usual moves. The bone-crushing grip on a wrist turned into a firm hold, and the blood-drawing bites lessened into bruise-inducing ones. Vanya wriggled a bit in his hold, but didn’t really object or try to break free. Still, his silence was kinda worrying, so Al broke character to make sure he truly was on board with this.

 “Are you really okay? I don’t mind at all if you want to switch back.”

 “Did I not say to not stop for any reason other than my safeword?” Vanya muttered embarrassed.

Well, yeah, he had, but… This was still his first time, and he could be so hard to read. Al wouldn’t put it past him to stay quiet out of pride. He stayed still for a moment, trying to decide whether it was okay to keep going or not, taking that into consideration.

 “Alfred, if you’re only going to stare at me, we might as well stop here.”

 “Fine then, _officer_ ”, Al sneered. Vanya had said to do whatever he usually did, and what he usually did was be a condescending prick. “In case you didn’t notice, there’s a dick here that wants some attention. Your face isn’t pretty enough to keep it standing.”

 “I… could try blowing it?” Vanya said timidly, and Al couldn’t tell if it was because he was roleplaying or because he wasn’t confident in his fellating skills. It wouldn’t be a surprise if this was his first time. Being careful to do it somewhat gently, Al grabbed a hold of Vanya’s hair and pushed him down, facing Al’s dick that was eagerly twitching in anticipation. Vanya swallowed nervously.

 “Well? Get to it, slut.”

Vanya actually took offense to that, but not enough to break character. He just glared at Al, something he was very good at, but gave the shaft an experimental lick in any case. Al knew he was supposed to act like he was barely affected by anything Vanya did, but he was aching so badly with need he moaned hard even at that tiny bit of attention.

 “Tastes nice, don’t it? Take it in.”

 “Tastes like sweat and farts”, Vanya mumbled, but did as he was told. Closing his lips around just the tip, licking the head, his mouth hot and wet, he grimaced but didn’t stop.

 “Yeah, like that…” Al mumbled, and strengthened his hold just a bit. He would let go if Vanya started pulling back, since talking with a cock in your mouth gets a little difficult. But Vanya took it like a champ, and started working his mouth down. Al did his best to keep up a cold façade, but it was _so hard_ , with Vanya’s hot mouth around his dick and the slippery tongue doing its best to please him.

 “Shit, you’re go – MMMMM!”

Vanya hummed around his cock, and the vibration felt too good – he wasn’t deep in, not with Vanya’s gag reflex kicking in, but it still had him right on the edge of cumming. Yanking Vanya’s head off him by the hair, he came all over the poor man’s face. He repressed the instinct to say sorry for not giving a warning, and in his haze tried to come up with something bitchy to say.

 “Good job, kid.” Not his best line, but Vanya didn’t seem to mind. “I’m gonna fuck you next, so prepare yourself.”

There Vanya couldn't help but momentarily break character. “It's going take you a while to cum again, and we both know it.” What a wiseass. Al slapped him on the cheek, and almost regretted as he noticed the quick flash of fear. Al had barely used any force, at most it would make the cheek a little tingly, but no one had ever hit Vanya before. Still, no margarita, so he kept going. “Bitch, shut up. I've planned this.” He hadn't of course, but he was hoping his ability to wing it hadn’t dulled in its disuse this last month.

 “…You have?” And there was that timidness again, was Vanya _really_ just playing along or was he truly uncomfortable with handing all the control over to Al? Because if it was just acting, it was Meryl Streep level.

 “You think I could see that dick every day and not plan anything?” Al said confidently despite his thoughts. “You basically shove it at my face any chance you get. So, roll over to your back, kid, and gimme a show."

Vanya hesitated, modesty about his body messing with his will to obey. “ _Now_ , you slut,” Al warned, calling dominance to his voice, and a thrill went up his spine. He hadn’t even realized he’d sort of missed this, telling people what to do, and see them do it. As a bottom, dominance was rarely that visible – it was more of a subtle guidance, but _this_ – a man six inches taller, broader and sturdier in almost every way, who visibly hated the idea of displaying himself, now bent back and opened his legs for all the world to see.

 “…like this?” Vanya shyly asked, and the look he gave Al was the most vulnerable he could have imagined. God, Vanya was just so _perfect_ , something that innocent from him was already stirring life back into his spent cock.

 “ _Sir_ ”, Al said and put a hand on Vanya’s knee, who looked away in embarrassment. “Remember that, kid. It's _sir_ for you. But yeah, just like that.” He pushed on the knee to open it a bit more. “Spread ‘em up.”

Al loved it when Ivan did this to him, pushed him around without giving a shit about his comfort zone. It was a freeing experience, not having to think for yourself, just following orders - he only hoped he could give some of that back to the man. Not with so much force though - Al often had to cover up marks and bruises for days after being properly handled by Ivan.

Aaaand there went his dick again, showing some more signs of life at the thought.

“You close your eyes now, kid”, Al said. He regretted saying that almost immediately ‘cuz he really loved Ivan’s eyes, the violet color and the mysterious spark. The storm inside was always visible in those amethyst jewels, the emotions Ivan hid behind his cold behavior always peeked out from behind the windows. The passion that shone in them when he came deep in Al was close to being one of his favorite sights in the world. He hoped Ivan would have objected this command more, but he seemed relieved rather than bothered. Those gorgeous eyes slid shut without a second thought, maxing the innocence and vulnerability in an instant.

Oh, God, keep character, _keep character_ , this was meant to all for Vanya, he would want Al to keep character! Quick, gather your resolve, remember how you love ordering people…

Al leaned in closer, letting his breath linger on Ivan’s ear.

 “You like that, don’t you”, Al murmured quietly, just loud enough to ear, so Ivan would have to strain his hearing. “You like laying there under me, so exposed?”

If Ivan could have blushed more, Al was sure he would have. This kind of intimacy was unusual for them, what with Ivan’s guarded approach to his appearance. Al still couldn’t understand how he could himself unattractive when he had such great skin, perfectly even toned, and those broad, strong shoulders, legs that went on for days, his round ass that would look right at home on some model, oh shit, Al was getting off track again. Ivan hadn’t even answered his question, and he was acting like it was no big deal. Al took a fistful of the thick hair and twisted a bit, just until he saw Ivan wince.

 “I _said_ , you like it don’tcha!”

 “I don’t! You forced me into it!”

 “You’re gonna learn to love it, bitch”, Al growled and took one thick wrist in his hand and twisted it, just enough to make it clear he _could_ make it hurt if he wanted. The implication was clear – do what I say or I break something. “You want me to stay nice, don’tcha?”

The silence was again long enough to border on insubordination, but just before Al could put some more fear into Ivan, he finally answered.

 “…Yes," he whispered hoarsely, cheeks deliciously red. “…What would you like me to do… sir?”

Crap, that went _straight_ to Al’s cock.

 “Hmm”, he hummed as he gave it some serious thought. There was so, so much he wanted Ivan to do now that Al had him like this. It was tempting to make him do _everything_ , ‘cause who knew when next time came, if ever? Al was warming to the idea a lot more than he had initially thought, and he hoped Ivan’s insistence on not using his safeword was a sign he was thinking along the same lines.

 “For a while, I want you just lie there while I…” Al purred while sliding a hand over Ivan’s chest, “…get _acquainted_ with you again. Then… I want you to jerk off for me.”

Ivan actually opened his eyes at that, embarrassment shining through like a lighthouse. Al just smirked like an asshole, reveling in how _not okay_ Ivan was with this, but still did it for Al’s sake.

 “I said close your eyes”, Al reminded, and Ivan did, his lips in a tight line. “ _Good_ boy. Now, you’re gonna jerk off to me, and you’re gonna love it. You do it all the time, anyway.”

 “I don’t”, Ivan claimed. Al laughed.

 “Now that’s a lie if I ever heard one! So what _do_ you do if you don’t milk the monkey?”

 “…other things.”

 “That sounds _so_ convincing”, Al laughed condescendingly. Then he happened to glance down and forgot to ask follow-up questions. Al's mouth started watering again just from the sight of that glorious prick resting on Ivan’s stomach. God, this man was so hot it should be outlawed! For several seconds Al got lost in reverie. When Ivan shifted restlessly, Al remembered he was the one in charge this time and woke to reality. He retreated some, so he could take in the sight of Ivan wholeheartedly. Again, his cock woke up some more. Slowly tracing his eyes over every inch, all he could think how he wanted to be fucked by that cock.

 “Sit up”, Al commanded.

 “What if I don’t want to?”

 “Then I’ll _make_ you.”

 “I don’t think you could”, Ivan claimed, all uppity and childish. Al didn’t bother arguing, he just took an arm and yanked the man up. Again the Russian’s eyes opened in surprise, and he tried to wrestle his arm free. Al didn’t even need any martial arts tricks to keep his hold – he was just that strong. Ivan could barely make him move, and _hated_ it.

 “Let go!”

Al laughed at that, it was just too cute! He simply guided the struggling hands to Ivan’s own dick, which, despite all his protests, really liked the plan. It stood up proudly, looking ready to burst.

 “Now, you’re gonna take that dick in your hands, and you’re gonna make it good. Understood?”

 “…yes. Sir.”

The way Ivan touched himself was almost as awkward as the way he blew – he had the basic idea down, but not a shred of technique.

 “You really _don’t_ do that a lot”, Al laughed. “What do you do when you see a great ass but can’t have it?”

 “It’s – it’s not socially acceptable”, Ivan panted.

 “What the hell, you pervert? You steal their underwear and sniff ‘em?”

Ivan stayed stubbornly quiet, and Al noticed the questions were breaking his concentration on what was _important_.

 “Fine, I’m not here for your sob stories. Get back to it – and look at me while you do it.”

Ivan made a little show about resisting, so Al slapped him again, just as a warning.

 “You want me to get mad, kid?”

 “No, sir.”

 “Then beat it like you mean. I won’t say it a third time.”

Ivan did obey, but not without a snarky “It would technically be a fifth time”, muttered very quietly.

 “Start at the base, idiot. Go slower. I’ll show you.”

Ivan was a strangely attentive student, even with all his embarrassment. He followed instructions well, and in about ten minutes had learned how to make himself squirm with need. His breath came in short, sexy gasps, with little moans, he was a spectacular mess lying on the bed. Al had gone slowly on himself so it would ages for him to cum. It would be a magnificent ride for Ivan.

 “I think you’re ready for something better”, Al panted, and reached for the nightstand. They only used the highest-quality lube, in large amounts, and Al made sure they never ran out.

 “You know what to do with this, right?” he smirked, shaking the bottle. Ivan nodded, unable to speak for the moment – he offered his palm, Al poured some liquid on it. He could have tried harder to suppress the groans he made when Ivan coated his cock, but luckily the man didn’t seem to care, he even brought the lube to his own asshole before being asked to. He was just as far gone as Al usually was every single time their roles weren’t reversed.

 “Now listen well”, Al said, getting back into the swing of being bossy. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you. If you turn your head, I’m gonna hit you until you learn. Clear?”

 “As day. Sir.”

 “And don’t you dare cum before I tell you to. I’m gonna go balls deep in you and fuck you like a sex toy, but you’re not allowed to cum.”

Ivan shuddered, literally, he shuddered in pleasure, and Al was _so_ happy. He leaned back with a smug smirk.

 “Lie down on your back.”

And he did, in a way that was so foreign for Ivan, without any hesitation, spreading his legs eagerly, so vulnerably open and bare. He would be the death of Al.

 “Will you… fuck me now? Sir?”

Al wouldn’t have minded at all if Vanya had forgotten the _sir_. He felt like on the brink of a heart attack as it was, all the affection and love he felt for the Russian almost pouring out of his mouth. Al wanted to shriek OH GOD YES! and pounce him, and it was only with calculated effort that he managed to stay somewhat in character.

 “You’ve been a good boy, so yes.”

Vanya was so beautiful, skin like porcelain, fair and glowing. Al felt conflicted - to go full speed as per their roleplaying, or take it a bit slower because he knew Vanya wasn't used to being fucked in the ass? Al was more than used to it, so he could welcome Vanya's enormous cock in him with ease and relax immediately, but he also knew from experience that a break in getting drilled in the ass could make it just as sensitive as the first time. And half of the first time was always stretching out slowly so you didn’t get tears – well, if you weren’t a masochist like Al. He usually welcomed the burn and enjoyed the ride to the max, but Vanya was an assfuck virgin. Al didn’t want to hurt him even if he insisted he’d be fine, because he didn’t know what it really felt like.

Yeah. Al would take it slow-ish.

Except he couldn't. The second Al brought his fingers to Vanya’s ass, his resolve broke like sugar glass. He only stuck in one finger and wiggled it a bit, before losing 90 percent of his self-control.

 “I’m gonna stick it in, try and relax”, he panted, positioning himself right at the entrance, and slowly pushing in. The yelp Vanya let out rang in his ears, and the resistance almost hurt, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull out, to ease either of them into it.

 “Sorry, sorry –“

 “It’s fine”, Vanya squeaked, holding his breath. “Take my hands.”

Al did, and squeezed them, breathing heavily against Vanya’s neck, trying to calm down, counting backwards from ten, anything he could do to force himself to slow down.

 “Don’t let go”, Ivan whimpered, biting his lip. “Fuck me, fuck me…”

 “No need to tell me twice”, Al snickered, and began moving. He held Ivan’s hands tightly, pushed down on his body with all his weight, rocked in and out, spurred on by the moans dropping from Ivan’s lips, he lost himself to the feeling, stopped pacing himself, stopped caring about Ivan’s feelings, stopped caring about anything…

As he felt Vanya struggling against his hold, Al quickly stopped and let go of the hands. Even through the haze he could remember how scary it could be when you first realized your partner really _could_ hurt you, and a safeword wouldn’t save you if they decided not to care.

 “No, it’s not that – put them back.”

 “You sure?” Al confirmed, and when Vanya nodded with a tiny smile, he figured it should be okay.

So he did, and this time held on because Ivan didn’t say margarita when he couldn’t break free. The blush on his face spread further and deepened.

 “You like that, big boy?”

 “I don’t”, Ivan denied, putting an odd stress to the words. Still, he hadn’t said margarita, so maybe it was a good thing?

 “I think you do, detective. You like that the big, mean idiot can do anything he wants to you and you can’t stop it.”

 “I don’t”, Ivan claimed while still squirming, again not using the safeword. Al took this as his cue to take things a little further. Tightening his grip, he really went to town with speed, the delicious mewls Ivan let out fueling his lust. Ivan himself wasn’t faring any better, eyes tightly shut and hips rising to meet every thrust, legs spasming, offering his gorgeous neck - latching onto it, Al bit down hard with the intent to draw blood – instantly regretting it as Vanya cried out in actual pain.

 

*****

 

 “That – that _thing_! Safe – _margaritka_!

 “Oh God, I’m so sorry! I should’ve been gentler! Jesus fucking Christ, it’s your first time and I’m being _such_ an asshole!”

 “How do you _stand_ that? Is that really how I do it?”

 “Um, well you actually do it even harder, and you’re usually strangling me at the same time…”

The horror on Vanya’s face reminded Al of all the times he’d asked a vanilla top to hit him in the face with all they’ve got right as he was cumming. He of course knew better than to ask someone who wasn’t into BDSM to hurt the person they liked, it had just slipped out each time. So far Vanya hadn’t realized how much he actually hurt Al when he got excited, and thought he was a monster for doing something Al not only liked, he _loved_ it, he got a high from being mangled but knowing that nothing would ever be enough to break him. There was no one as strong as him, so there was an odd thrill at letting someone else play at being the alpha male.

 “Oh baby, don’t make that face, it’s fine! I’ve only used my safeword with you once!”

 “I don’t know why you would say that only for my sake, but I suspect you are.”

 “I’m totally not! I seriously like it, okay?”

Vanya looked doubtful, and Al sighed deep in frustration. How was he supposed to explain this to someone so purely S? Was this really the time for a Conversation? With his dick in Vanya’s ass?

Judging by Vanya’s face, it was. God damnit! This would be such a mood killer. And they’d already gone over a week without a proper fuck! With a heavy sigh, Al pulled out and let go of Vanya’s wrists to lean back to a sitting position. Vanya’s hands wandered over to his bleeding shoulder to soothe the skin.

 “I’m sorry I do this to you all the time”, he mumbled while avoiding Al’s eyes, looking ashamed and sounding very young. “I don’t mean to.”

 “Honey, I’ve told you I like it a hundred times! I _like_ pain! I can’t explain it, I just do! I mean, can _you_ explain why you like hurting people?”

 “I don’t.”

 “Exactly! So don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Long as you respect my safeword, we’re cool”, Al reminded, and thought that would the end of it and they could keep going with the fucking. Neither of them were big on Conversations

 “I meant I don’t like hurting people. It just happens.”

 “…Oh. Well… I don’t know what to say to that.”

 “I never want to! I just do it”, Vanya said, desperately trying to prove something to Al. His eyes pleaded for him to understand, and he did, _of course_ he did. Some people keep a tight leash on their emotions, and Vanya was one of those people. He kept himself in check so carefully at all other times that when he felt something so strongly it ripped the leash off his hand, of course it felt like he wasn’t in control of himself! Normal people do it all the time! Any time a couple fights, they lose control and later both regret saying the things they did. It never meant that they’re bad people or crazy.

 “Shh, baby, it’s okay. I told you, you could never hurt me, not really. And I actually kinda like seein’ you like that. You’re always so reserved, like you’re playin’ a role.”

Vanya didn’t comment on that, but it seemed like he didn’t appreciate it. His lips pursed just a little bit and his eyes darkened, but soon he went back to pleading.

 “If I ever do something you don’t like, you should say it. I want to be good to you.”

What could Al do but melt at that? Vanya could seem so cold, but at heart he was so sweet he caused cavities simply by being close!

 “Aww honeyyyy! You’re already so great! Careful, if you keep spouting crap like that, I’m gonna have ta propose to ya!” he supposedly joked, but knew he would give it serious thought. His little blond cupcake made him go funny in the head. “Honestly babe, if there’s one thing you should never do, it’s change.”

 “You won’t say that in a few weeks”, Vanya muttered.

 “C’mon, you make it sound like you’re a bad person. You’re being way too hard on yourself.”

 “I _am_ a bad person!” Vanya let slip out, and pretty passionately at that. He stunned himself into silence, then opened his mouth only to never start a new sentence. First Al tried waiting patiently, and then gently prompting him, but it seemed only saying something himself would produce a result. He had a hunch about what this all was about, so he needed to prove to Vanya that it was complete horseshit.

 “You are _not_ a bad person. You’re just under a lot of stress thanks to your job, and the press just loves blaming people for everything. It’s not your fault BK’s still lose. All you need is some tlc, and you’ll see reason again. Tell you what – let’s forget the S &M for now and let me just take care of you, okay? I’ll put on my silk gloves.”

Al channeled all of his inner Mattie to interpret Vanya’s face, but it still told him very little. He was still wary, at least, and probably didn’t buy what Al was saying, but didn’t want to argue. Maybe some part of him wanted to believe? It would take some time to convince Vanya, but Al was sure they would get there. He kissed Vanya gently, took his hand, and with tender, slow movements brought him over the edge. That was the first time Al could honestly say that they had made love in their relationship.

What Vanya needed wasn’t a master, but a mentor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t say _I love you_ after a month of dating! For the love of God don’t say it so early! All that’s gonna happen is the other party will either freak out at the stalker-level devotion or think that you’re confusing _like_ with _love_ and figure you’re not mature enough for a serious relationship. The only reason it kind of works here is because Al is so damn socially awkward he doesn’t realize it’s way too early and Ivan is do damn starved for affection he’ll take it anywhere he can.  
>  Also Al is making the common mistake of assuming the mental illness _is_ the person, instead of something the person _has_. There’s a clear distinction between the two! A mental illness will affect the person’s behavior and thinking, but it’s not their personality.  
>  The sex scene is a little hurried towards the end because it was getting out of hand, I had to end it before it took over the whole chapter. Also, do you think that Ivan’s safeword has something to do with Margarita alley from the BK case????? _Do you????_ I feel like I’m seriously forgetting about the potential-serial-killer-angle and just making Ivan more and more anxious instead of suspicious. I hope you readers can notice the super subtle hints I sometimes drop.  
>  And these are the longest notes I’ve ever made, but I really just want to assure you that things will get a lot more fluffy from now on! Ivan starts getting comfortable in his role as Al’s boyfriend, and reveals his teddy bear ways! Doesn’t mean he won’t have secrets, though. 
> 
> _Podsolnukh(Пoлсoлнух): sunflower_  
>  Shchi(щи): cabbage soup  
> Starik(Старик): old man  
> Margaritka(Маргаритка): daisy
> 
> Chapter name comes from the aria Il Dolce Suono from the opera Lucia Di Lammermoor, also known as the Diva’s song in Fifth Element. My favorite interpretation is by Jane Zhang, go on Youtube and give it a listen! It’s AMAZING! For once the clickbait title of the video hits the nail on the head!


	6. My Bonfire Shines In The Fog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: brief scene with massive amounts of self-hate, alcohol as a coping mechanism  
> Let’s hope I don’t find as many inconsistencies in ch 7 as I did in this one or it will NEVER be publishedXD Nearly every time I read this ch through I found something that conflicted with something I wrote earlier. Or referenced something that had only happened in my head and not in the text.  
> Guys, I need to know the average volume of American vodka bottles, and are they measured in liters or ounces? It’s super important(=a minor detail) information in a later chapter. Let’s say a bottle has 750ml, would you call it a 750ml bottle or a 25 fl.oz bottle? Is 25 fl.oz a common size? I was googling cheap US vodkas but was confused when everything was in metric, I thought they only used imperial. Let me know in the comments or on my [ tumblr ](https://linssikeittomies.tumblr.com/) or wherever you like.  
> The Russian siblings speak Russian with each other. When I wrote only the first sentence of an exchange in Russian it looked like they spoke English the rest of the time, and I didn’t want to italicize every spoken line, and of course google translating everything would have been even worse. So any time a third person isn’t part of the conversation, they’re speaking Russian. And don’t worry about the OC – she will stay a minor presence in the story.

Al didn’t think he could even imagine being happier. He was nearly floating when Vanya kissed him bye in the morning, and drove to work on autopilot, brain fixated on yesterday. It hadn’t been the first time Al had walked out of bed without bruises, but it _had_ been the first time it hadn’t been a _disappointment_. He had connected with Vanya, really _connected_ , Vanya had bared to him something no one else had ever seen, and damn if it didn’t make Al feel _giddy_. He was _special_ to Vanya. _Special_!

 “Look who’s on cloud nine”, Stu teased as soon Al sat down.

 “The greatest thing happened yesterday!” he announced excitedly, just barely able to stop himself from climbing on the table and jumping up and down in joy.

Jack gasped and started clapping.

 “Oh, congratulations! It’ll be sad to see you leave, but the air force has been your dream since forever. We should throw you a party!”

Aww, that was sweet, but completely misunderstood.

 “No, no, you got it all wrong! It’s my boyfriend!”

Jack’s face fell in microseconds. He was so fed up with hearing about Vanya and Stu’s wife Erika that he had stopped bothering to feign interest for even a second.

 “Oh. He didn’t propose to you, did he?”

You could just hear the underlying dread in his voice, he was sure he’d be forced to weigh in on wedding plans for months on end. Well, that fear would’ve been unfounded any way, Al had been planning his possible wedding since before he turned fifteen. The only one allowed to make changes would be his future husband – and even then _only_ if he was as adamant about his plans as Al was. And the giant three-tier cake decorated with red, white and blue roses would stay no matter what! He’d sooner let the fiancée go.

 “He might as well have! He said he wants to be good to me!”

No one but Stu understood how _important_ that was, and even he took it the wrong way. He wolf whistled and winked. For all his claims about not being interested in other people’s sex lives, he sure was invested in them.

 “Not like _that_! Or, well, _also_ like that, but! Being honest is really difficult to him, he always acts so cold, but he wants to be _good_ to me! He said he doesn’t wanna hurt me!” Al explained, so excited he was literally vibrating in his seat.

 “Why would he need to say that?” José asked worriedly, ever a mom who didn’t like the boy his son was dating. Al could only imagine how much harder it was for José’s _actual_ daughter to date, if he was this judgmental of his adult colleagues’ boyfriends.

 “Oh, he can get kinda intense, that’s why”, Al said with a handwave. He hadn’t wanted to turn this into a Serious Conversation. The one yesterday had been great, but those kinds of talks are only special because they’re had so rarely and the person holds a place in your heart. Al liked his coworkers, sure, but he wasn’t itching to hang with them after work.

 “What do you mean by _intense_?” José demanded, starting to shift from worried to slightly angry, thanks to Al avoiding his questions. God, his daughter must’ve been aching to move out since her terrible twos! One could only hope José’s wife was the most understanding and cool mom in existence, but birds of a feather tend to flock together.

 “Okay look, I’m not gonna start explaining our sex life here. Can’t you guys just be happy for me?” Al whined, expecting the others to just get it over with and say something nice. Al wasn’t going to bring it up again if they got so up in arms about it.

Instead the subject was dropped completely, and a long, uneasy silence fell over the men. Finally Jack abruptly brought up the approaching elections. José got started on a tirade on Trump, about that stupid wall, how sometimes you think the world is going towards a brighter future and then it turns out that such a shitstain of a person can be a _legitimate_ candidate in a presidential election instead of a hateful joke. Alfred agreed wholeheartedly, and usually happily took part in political bashings, but this one time he stayed quiet and was just relieved about the change in topic. No one at work liked Vanya, and Al couldn’t fathom why. What wasn’t there to like? Why did everyone else always turn so quiet when Al brought up his boyfriend? Stu had been supportive at the beginning, but a few weeks in he had started saying stuff like _What do you actually_ know _about this guy_ and _Why hasn’t Ivan told you anything about his past_ and _He just sounds a little sketchy, don’t take this the wrong way_ , he was turning into a mom just as bad as José.

  _Dam I fel like ateenagr again_ , Al texted Vanya. When the message wasn’t read for a few minutes, he elaborated.

  _Jose adn stu on my case sayn u suc_

_Not true btw urgreat ily_

Vanya apparently had some real work to do since these messages were left unread for half an hour. When he responded, Al and the guys were rescuing a dog that had gotten stuck in a sewage pipe. They got the good girl out in a few hours, smelly, drenched, and exhausted, but nonetheless ecstatic and practically unharmed. The owner thanked them with tears in his eyes. Al was going to tell Vanya about it, but the dog story took back seat to melting at the adorable message Vanya had sent.

_Legally I cannot deny that you are an adult, but mentally you never passed 15, I think_ , Vanya had joked, and then gotten worried about having insulted Al, since five minutes later he had very sweetly apologized.

  _I did not mean that, it was just a joke. I hope that Jose and Stu will come to understand that you are an adult who can make your own decisions_

Vanya’s text messages were always super flowery, like letters from the Victorian era. Al would’ve condensed the sentiment into a single sentence: u ARE a teen lol jk lol hope they get off ur back. Sometimes it was annoying how refined and snooty Vanya could get, but sometimes it was also cute. Like these messages – he tried _so hard_ to look all cool and collected, but then scrambled for an apology when he thought Al was offended. Under all that aloofness there was a shy and insecure man.

Al triumphantly shoved his phone at José’s face.

 “Check _this_ out! How can you say my Vanya is _anything_ but a lovable teddy bear after seeing this?”

José took the phone and looked at the messages with a critical eye. Then he scrolled up. Al protested loudly, but José stretched his arm out of reach. Damn all these tall people! Vanya had once set Al’s glasses on the top shelf of his ceiling-high bookshelf because he hadn’t liked being called a Lenin wanna-be. Al had to climb the shelves to get them back, and then Vanya just took them again.

 “The day before yesterday he called you a self-important brat who should consider a career as a target on a shooting range.”

 “He’s been stressed out a lot lately! He didn’t _mean_ it!”

“José, give the boy back his phone”, Jack commanded from the driver’s seat, but as he was not the mom in this team, he had zero authority. José kept scrolling.

 “ _Coño, vosotros dos os llevais super mal_ …” he mumbled to himself and _finally_ gave the phone back to Al, looking more than a little disturbed.

 “We’re not _serious_ , it’s just this weird game we play a lot”, Al tried to explain. He didn’t expect them to understand, because no one had ever understood, but he wanted them to stop freaking out over Vanya’s harmless quirks. He should’ve just kept his mouth shut, like he had vowed back at the station. He just couldn’t help himself when it came to Vanya, it seemed.

 “Are you sure _he_ knows it’s a game?”

 “Sure he does! Didn’t you _see_ how he apologized for going too far today? Not that he actually went too far, that’s the tamest joke he’s ever made. He knows and I know, and everything’s great! We’re in love!”

 “So were Sid Vicious and Nancy, and he killed her”, José reminded in that infuriating _mother knows best_ tone, literally wagging his finger at Al.

 “Ivan and me aren’t drug addicts and alcoholics.”

 “Just saying.”

 “Whatever. I seriously need to introduce him to you guys someday, then you’d all understand.”

It was beyond doubt that they would all love Vanya. The Russian was an intellectual, which would please Jack, but emotional enough to relate with Stu, and the perfect amount of responsible to click with José. The only problem would be getting Vanya to agree to a meeting – he could nearly be described as antisocial. His idea of a perfect day was staying holed up inside without any kind of reminders of the outside world. Not counting Al, at least sometimes.

~¨:.:¨~

Ivan had briefly fretted about offending Alfred, although in hindsight it was obvious that he had just been working. Someone who could laugh off _infantile imbecile with the brain activity of a rug_ wouldn’t be angered to silence by _teenager_. But oddly enough, Ivan did not regret apologizing. He had wanted to let Alfred know he hadn’t been serious - in fact, his carefree attitude was often Ivan’s favorite thing about the young man - and he had expressed that. It had been a very long time since he had been that honest about his feelings, to anyone. Even himself.

Unfortunately, that joy was greatly diminished some hours later by a text message from Tasha.

_I want to meet you soon._

Ivan’s little sister was a natural at wording simple, harmless statements in the most menacing way possible. Before the tr – when they had been little, and it hadn’t been confirmed if the siblings could stay together, she had said _Even if you don’t want me to, I’ll stay with you_. She had been a somewhat problematic child even before the –  she had always been a somewhat problematic child, but as she grew older her obsessive nature had only amplified. Ivan had no doubts that even if she had been adopted by someone in a different continent, she would have found a way to cross the ocean and glue herself to her brother. He didn’t like thinking she was part of his atonement, because she deserved to be her own person with agency instead of just a tool for punishment, but sometimes she made thinking otherwise _very_ difficult.

_I miss you too, sister. Have you been fine?_

_It has been two weeks and four days since I last saw you. That is too long._

Come to think of it, Ivan _had_ been rather neglectful of his sisters after meeting Alfred. Was that what Tasha was referring to?

_You’re right, we should ask Katyushka when she has free time and meet up_

_Yekaterina is busy._

Oh no. _Yekaterina_. That spelled even further trouble than the sentences themselves – Tasha only called Katyushka by her real name when they were fighting. Ivan sent a quick text to the eldest sibling to verify she was still alive. She was - _and_ she really was busy with work. Both of the restaurants she worked at wanted her to do more shifts, and being the pushover she was, she couldn’t say no.

However, just because she wasn’t lying, it didn’t mean that Tasha wasn’t angry. She _was_ fond of getting straight to the point, but she wasn’t usually this terse with her words. She was deeply upset about Ivan not spending time with her. Did she suspect something? Did she remember Alfred from the evening they met? Ivan had been careful not to mention him at all to her, _or_ Katyushka, because anything she knew eventually made its way to the youngest sibling, but Tasha had a good memory and a sharp mind – now that Ivan thought of it, it seemed she had been jealous of Alfred. She probably suspected something had happened that night, making her obsession flare up again for the first time in years.

_Tonight._

Again with the ominous pleasantness. Ivan was taking much too long to answer.

 “Would be nice if _we_ got paid for sexting on the clock…” he heard Casey grumble passive-aggressively under her breath. She was much more of a coward than Laurinaitis, who would have said it out loud with more cordial words. Ivan was still surprised Casey had heard about Ivan being involved with someone. Laurinaitis wasn’t the type to gossip, and no one else cared what Ivan did in his daily life.

 “It’s a family matter”, Ivan said with a nauseatingly saccharine smile, to let them both know that he was always listening – especially when they least wanted it.

_Tonight is fine. I need to take care of something at home, then I will come straight there. Expect me at around_ _half past five_

Half past five was no happenstance. If need be, Ivan would sit in the car in the parking lot until the hour came. Perhaps Tasha was frustrated because Ivan hadn’t contacted her at all for over a week, but perhaps it was because she suspected he had found someone else to occupy his time. If the latter was true, Ivan would have a very difficult and terrifying time at her place – that was where a buffer, miss Josefa Gil, entered the picture.

Miss Gil was Tasha’s neighbor, and very punctual. She came home from work at five thirty-five by bus almost without fail, fed her cat, and every other day left for groceries by car five minutes later. If she chanced upon an acquaintance, she might stop to chat for a few minutes, and then continue on her way. She would return from her shopping about half an hour later, and she always had a loaf of bread in her bag. With dinner, she was rarely not ready by seven forty-five, and often offered a portion to her favorite neighbor and pseudo-friend – who luckily was Tasha. When Gil was present, Tasha could keep herself much calmer and concentrate on things other than Ivan. And Gil was a pleasant woman, too – social and talkative, but not overwhelmingly so, she let others talk and expanded on their points without dominating the conversation. Ivan supposed she felt a sort of kinship towards her foreign neighbor, although Tasha had lived in her new country most of her life, as opposed to Gil’s seven years. They were still two sore thumbs in a building filled with born and raised Americans. Ivan didn’t understand what Tasha found so displeasing about the woman – every time she came over to share dinner, Tasha would treat her very coldly. Answer with as few words as possible, rarely initiate conversation with her, never offer her tea, something she never did with her family. She had very few friends to begin with, and he saw no reason why she couldn’t consider Gil one of them. He was sure Katyushka wondered the same thing, even if she had not voiced it. She had only met Gil twice, but clearly liked her – both times the two had conversed at length about literature.

Laurinaitis’ role in the task force was to act as the peacemaker, and he excelled in it. He never said anything arrogantly, and all his expressions and gestures always made it clear he wasn’t taking anyone’s side, only stating an opinion.

 “Even with family matters, I think it’s better to handle them on your free time”, he said with a troubled face. Ivan generally found he was mostly incapable of staying angry at Toris, and this time was not an exception. He didn’t think Toris had a bad bone in his body.

 “What he said”, Casey concurred. Ivan had a little more trouble forgiving all her transgressions, but knew that in her heart Amanda was also a dutiful and admirable person. Ivan was the only person in the room who didn’t deserve to be there.

 “It’s already solved”, Ivan smiled and set his personal phone on silent and dropped it in his pocket. “Did either of you find anything worth looking into?”

 “I was sure one of the people connected to an earlier victim was also Dubois’ ex, but I can’t find the name. I’ve been searching all morning.”

 “Do you have a list of the names in either case?”

 “Here’s what I’ve gathered up to this point.”

 “I will take a look if you don’t mind. I can’t find anything worth looking into in these statements.”

Toris gave Ivan his little notepad. Amanda went back to perusing her own files. Ivan wasn’t too sure what she was working on – another sign that he was the last person who should be in charge here.

Let’s see, Dubois’ family members… No, Ivan remembered for sure no one named Dubois had been involved in other cases. His older sister had married a Davies, no Davieses either anywhere. Starting with closest friends, there were White, Cooper, Rivera and Graham. Graham… Ivan thought they might have been someone resembling Graham. Yes, Grant. Grant, a man. He brought in mind Obama. Oh, that’s right, it had been in 2013, the start of Obama’s second term. So it had to be from the Jakobsen case. That didn’t help at all. Hughes, Boyd, Clement, Strand, Renaud, Renaud! No, that had been just the club owner in the Dubois and Allen cases, the connection had already been proven purely coincidental.

Ivan went through ten more names in a similar manner. He had a good memory, some even went as far as calling it _incredible_. They assumed he just heard or read something once, and that was it – he would remember it for the rest of his life. They were wrong, of course. Ivan was not a savant like that, he remembered things because he spent days memorizing names, patterns, locations, times and connections the first time they came up, and later went over them systematically every week, until he was confident he could write them all down in his sleep, and then continued going over them every other weekend to keep the memories fresh. He was not gifted – he simply worked hard.

 “I found it. Evan Freeman was Dubois’ partner from August 2012 until last June. He was also a friend of a friend of Cole Campbell, March 2014. They interacted little, Freeman could tell us nothing.”

 “I’ll look into it, see if I can find anything new with the info”, Toris promised.

Nothing would come out of it. The Baton Killer made sure no one ever knew anything.

-_-_-_-_-

Since overtime wasn’t required anymore, Ivan stepped out of the office at exactly 5pm, not that Toris and Amanda lagged far behind. Ivan went home to have a quick dinner, noted that his liquor stash would need to be refilled after the visit, and then drove to Natasha’s. He got out of the car just as Gil’s bus came to the stop. She worked close by and the bus had a convenient schedule, so she used her car almost exclusively for getting to the grocery store. When she noticed Ivan waving to her from the parking lot, she smiled brightly and waved back. Ivan got the front door first, but politely waited for her.

 “I haven’t seen you for a few weeks. I thought you had a fight with Natasha, although she said no.”

Ivan had neglected her sisters after meeting Alfred, that was true. He was aiming to fix that situation, but with Tasha one always had to be one’s toes.

 “I have been quite busy with work”, Ivan claimed. It was true, yes, but not the real reason behind not visiting Tasha and Katyushka.

 “Oh yes, I heard about the boy”, Gil sympathized, shaking her head in defeat. “He was so young and beautiful.”

He had been 26, not what most would call a _boy_ , but Ivan admitted he had looked younger than his age. Most would have guessed he had been at most 23, thanks to his youthful face and lithe body. He had been asked for ID at bars constantly. He had been the second youngest victim so far, the youngest having been 16.

Gil called the elevator down, and they stepped inside. The elevator was a little on the small side, but they could fit since Gil had no grocery bags with her.

 “Today isn’t a grocery day, am I right?” Ivan asked. Gil disliked canned food and preservatives, so she always got fresh produce. That was why she had to go the store so often.

 “Yes, I went yesterday. Today I’m making chicken, I’ll bring some for you and Natasha.”

 “Thank you.”

Gil was a very good cook, so Ivan rarely declined her food, even if it would have felt polite. He still always took the smallest portion. He always ate at home after work, so he wouldn’t starve even if he skipped Gil’s meals.

 “It’s nothing, I like sharing! I wanted to be a chef when I was little.”

 “Any restaurant would be lucky to have you”, Ivan said truthfully, and Gil blushed at the compliment. He liked that she never tried to deflect compliments, she took them humbly because she knew they were true, but didn’t want to brag. She stepped out of the elevator with a pleased smile, and said she would be ready with dinner in about thirty minutes.

Time to step in to the dragon’s den. Ivan hoped he had read the tone in Tasha’s messages wrong, though he rarely did. He rang the bell. Tasha answered the door with a flat face, which at least meant she wasn’t angry. That was a great start!

 “Hello, sister”, Ivan greeted with a smile, and she smiled back with a slight extension of her lips. That was normal for her, she didn’t smile much – never had, even as a child. But she smiled even less after the - but from this tiny attempt at a smile Ivan could tell she was somewhere between glad and overjoyed, without a hint of resentment.

 “It’s good to see you. Come in.”

He did. Tasha’s home was just as pretty as she was – flowers on the windowsills, white lace curtains, every piece of furniture from matching sets, pastel colors, tasteful artwork on the walls… Her home could have been a picture from a catalogue, were it not for the minor clutter and major over furnishing. She had a tendency to leave her books, electronics and chargers lying around, and of course the place was too small to fit everything comfortably. Tasha was short, slim, and agile, so she had no trouble navigating between all her chairs, tables and cupboards, but Ivan with his clumsy and stocky frame had to take much care not to knock anything off place. He had always wished he would have inherited their mother’s physique, but unfortunately he had taken after his father. Maybe if he had been lithe like her, he would have been allowed to take ballet classes instead of Tasha, who hadn’t liked them anyway. She had enjoyed teaching Ivan far more than she had being in that class. She had even said Ivan was a better dancer than her, and later suggested he take it up as a hobby, but he hadn’t wanted to burden their family even further by using up his time with pointless fancies. He had loved dancing, and still did, but it wasn’t useful.

 “I ran into Gil on the way, she will bring chicken in half an hour.”

 “She’s been making chicken a lot lately”, Tasha commented coolly. “We should set the table.”

She seemed to be in a great mood. Maybe she was just glad she was finally seeing her brother after a three week break. Ivan helped her with the table, letting her know a little about what was going on at work – nothing, mainly. Things at her prison were also the same as they usually were. Shortage on guards, some fights between inmates, small fry filling up the cells. Tasha hardly ever had much to report, so her news were always quickly told. When she was done, her smile was recognizable as one.

 “I’m glad you’re doing alright”, she said. “All those malicious articles had me worried.”

 “I don’t care about those, journalists know nothing and are only after readers. They will spout any lie if they think it will help sales.”

 “Still, you can call me anytime if you want to.”

No, it was bad enough that Alfred had seen the mess Ivan became on a regular basis. He didn’t need to burden his sisters with the knowledge as well. He needed to be strong for them. Especially Tashenka, the one who had suffered and lost the most.

 “I promise I’m fine. There’s never need to worry about me.”

Tasha dropped the subject. The conversation turned to sewing – she was making a new sarafan, she had already cut the fabric but hadn’t decided on the embroidery pattern yet. They debated floral versus geometric when Gil rang the doorbell. To her credit, Tasha tried not to show her anger at the invasion, even if she failed badly and the resulting face startled Gil. Ivan was glad that Tasha at least made an effort to get along with her perceived enemy, it was good for her to have social contacts outside her family.

 “Ivan, could you get the rice pot? I left the door open”, Gil asked, her hands full with the chicken pan.

 “Of course. Do you need anything else?”

 “If you can carry the bread too.”

Gil often asked Tasha and Ivan to fetch remaining dishes, so Ivan had seen her apartment many times. It was very different from Tasha’s. While clean, it was clearly not its natural state - every time Ivan entered it, things were arranged differently, and once she had forgotten to close the bedroom door. Ivan had witnessed the unmade bed and piles of clothes thrown on the floor firsthand. Her stove was also stained, and she never wiped dust and crumbs from under the microwave, only the counter. As a whole, the home was much more colorful and lived-in – the colors of the furniture were not well coordinated, but lively and bright. It was also much less cluttered – Gil didn’t try to fit a sofa and an arm chair in a living room that could only hold a love seat.

Gil’s cat demanded food from Ivan as he balanced the loaf of bread on the rice pot’s lid. When he didn’t bend over backwards to serve it, it attacked his ankles as he began carrying the pot out. That was one audacious animal.

 “I know for a fact you have been fed”, Ivan scolded the cat, for some reason in English. Like it would understand it any better than Russian. The cat meowed at him again and continued attacking his ankles. Gil had spoiled that terror so rotten it was a wonder it hadn’t decayed completely. And it wasn’t even a white Persian, the traditional spoiled cat of villains all over the globe, just a run of the mill short-haired tabby.

The good thing about the demon cat from Hell was that it had no interest in the outside world. It never tried to run out the door, so Ivan got back to Tasha’s without the added hassle of herding a cat back in its home.

 “Your cat tried to assassinate me”, Ivan complained.

 “She just wants food”, Gil laughed. She never believed a bad word about her cat. “I put poor Ramira on a diet because she’s been gaining weight. She’s so cute I can’t resist her begging face.”

In his life, Ivan had seen only one cat that he considered not cute – Chase No Face – but he had never met one he lost his mind over. Cuteness was not an excuse for poor discipline. Ivan liked cats, he used to want one, but he knew that if you let them boss you around, they would.

 “I think she remembers all the times you didn’t give her food”, Tasha said with a slight smirk. “Of course she wants revenge.”

 “She can get in line. Everyone at work wanted revenge before her.”

 “Right, you said work was busy. How is the case going?” Gil asked. Tasha shot her a dirty look that went unnoticed by the intended target.

 “We are trying to find witnesses, but so far no one has seen a thing”, Ivan sighed. He didn’t like talking about his work with people other than Alfred, but since the case was so high-profile, it was unavoidable. The only times his work didn’t come up, it was because the other person didn’t know he was a detective.

 “Oh no. I hope I could help. You must be tired.”

 “I can handle it. I’m sure it’s no worse than an office job. Your shoulders must ache every day.”

 “Oh yes, it’s pretty bad. Could you massage them again? You’re so good at it”, Gil asked, and switched to the seat next to Ivan without even waiting for an answer. Gil pulled her ponytail over one shoulder to her front to allow access to her shoulders. She had beautiful, thick, black hair, when she braided her hair it was as thick as a wrist. Usually she wore her hair on a low ponytail, she couldn’t keep it high because her head started aching very soon. Her hair was her pride and joy – she hadn’t cut it in over ten years, only trimmed the ends. It was shiny, strong and healthy.

Tasha silently exploded at the move – to her, it may have looked a little too sensual. Her ire was palpable in the air, but Gil was carved of strong wood. She only let goosebumps rise on her skin. She was one of the extremely few people who didn’t always find Ivan intimidating – sometimes, on his bad days, she would just leave the extra plates to Tasha and wish them a good evening before returning to the safety of her home. Every now and then, she would flinch at sudden movements. On their first meeting, she had all but ran for the elevator, and when Tasha had introduced them, she had only said a few words. It had taken a few chance meetings in the lobby for her fear to subside, and for her to start speaking with Ivan. She must have been a very lonely woman, she had moved to a new country without her family, had a boring office job, lived on a schedule and her only friend seemed to be Nataliya, who hated her for no reason.

 “ _Natasha, eto nichego ne znachit._ _Uspokoysya_ ”, Ivan said to his sister. By then Gil was used to being excluded from certain statements and no longer questioned it.

 “ _Ya etogo ne prinimayu!_ ”

 “ _Pochemu eto khorosho, kogda ya delayu eto s Katyushkoy?_ _Khil nichem ne otlichayetsya_.”

Tasha did not agree, but had no convincing counterargument. Ivan got to work on Gil, it was the least he could do for having her act as an unwitting bulwark between Ivan and his sister.

 “You have great hands, Ivan”, Gil sighed happily. That meant her shoulders weren’t in too bad of a shape – when real knots formed, massage felt unpleasant.

 “Katyusha gets back pains often, I learned so I could help her at least a little.”

 “My brother is very devoted to his sisters”, Tasha said sharply. “He loves us very much.”

 “I know that, he’s a very gentle man.”

Gil’s strong point was her bravery, not her intuition. Perhaps that explained why she had no other friends besides Tasha, and why she considered Tasha her friend in the first place.

 “The food will get cold”, Tasha pointed out in a tone that could freeze a rushing river.

 “Go ahead and start without us”, Gil said, not backing down an inch. Just like Tasha had a knack for saying anything in the most menacing way possible, Gil could take anything as a friendly note. The only other person as socially clueless as her was Alfred.

Tasha sulked the rest of the dinner. Gil tried to include her in the conversation more, but she was determined in her stewing. She threw both her guests out right after everyone was finished with the meal. When the door closed, Ivan apologized for his sister’s behavior, and Gil said she didn’t mind. She never minded. She was exceptionally tenacious and benign. In many aspects she resembled Katyushka, it was no wonder they got along so well. It was a pity the eldest sibling had so little free time, she needed a friend who didn’t double as a colleague. She had started taking the role of a caretaker early on, and the habit must have stuck with her. She still felt responsible for her younger siblings, even though she was often the one who needed the most help and support. Ivan had left a deep wound in her, she had been incredibly dependable before everything went to hell. She had been old enough to fully comprehend the weight and effect of what Ivan had done, and it had left a deep chasm in her soul. But at least she had been nearly an adult, and been able to gather her life back together with relative ease. Not like Tashenka. Little Tashenka who had only just began grasping the concept of death, had only just entered school, had only just made her first friend, when Ivan tore her life in to pieces and forced her out of home. How she could idolize him the way she did was an utter mystery, she should’ve hated him with all her heart and every inch of her being. And instead of taking responsibility, Ivan had dumped it all on Katyusya, hadn’t been satisfied until he had crushed her completely and destroyed any hope of her ever being able to stand up for herself.

A few permilles in he started contemplating calling them and apologizing, but came to the conclusion that it would be too 20 years too late and only offend them even further. For the thousandth time he promised to clean up his act and finally _do_ something to make up for it.

-_-_-_-_-

The next day was another one with no developments at work whatsoever. As he had promised, Toris had continued trying to find something new with yesterday’s Freeman connection, but it had produced just as few results as it had yesterday. Amanda had thought looking through some surveillance footage might yield something, so she had set it upon herself to check all the recordings from the case all over again. Ivan knew it would be a waste of time, but hadn’t stopped her. It was better to let her feel like she was contributing to society. As for Ivan, he had gotten down to work on statements once more. Noticing the slightest hints about connections was his specialty, and he might have been even better at it if he hadn’t emptied his stash last night. The headache had made it a little difficult to enter a flow. Visiting Tasha always left him a little on the edge because she dredged up memories like nothing else. She didn’t do it on purpose, Ivan doubted she even knew how she affected her brother, but drinking was just about the only way Ivan could bury the overwhelming guilt she induced in him. At some point, Tasha and alcohol had become cause and effect. She would stab him if she ever found out.

Ivan had just hidden his two new bottles behind his desk when Alfred rang the doorbell. He claimed to have just been in the area, but Ivan saw through the cliché excuse immediately. This visit was to make sure Ivan wasn’t freaking out anymore – he briefly wondered if Alfred had also come by yesterday while he had been at Tasha’s, but the lack of text messages indicated otherwise. He likely would have sent something, pretending to be at home and just saying hi for the sake of it to make sure Ivan hadn’t killed himself or something stupid like that. It was a good thing Ivan hadn’t dallied any longer with hiding the bottles – they would have sent a misleading message.

“I got us pizzas!” Alfred announced, as if Ivan couldn’t see the three boxes, and sauntered inside before getting the ok.

 “I didn’t invite you in”, Ivan sighed. While he didn’t mind Alfred showing up, it couldn’t have been too much asked to wait for permission. Ivan could have been in the middle of something, or just planned to have a quiet night by himself studying his notes and reading a quality novel. Some people _liked_ alone time and didn’t constant attention from other people.

 “Didn’t need to”, Alfred claimed and pulled Ivan down from his shirt collar for a kiss, before turning up the thermostat. _Again_. It wasn’t much work to set it back to the temperature Ivan wanted it at, but it was annoying. If Alfred had just _asked_ , Ivan would have turned it up gladly, but no, the American just assumed he was well within his rights to mess up other people’s homes.

They sat down at the table. Ivan had already eaten, but took a slice for company. Alfred started talking about his work again, this time the main subject was some dog he had saved yesterday. Better that than his numerous, uninteresting colleagues.

 “Actually! I took a picture! Wait a sec, I’ll show you!”

Alfred dug out his phone and started searching through his hundreds of photos, all the while blathering on about something or other. Ivan was so used to tuning out the inane blather that he didn’t even react to Alfred turning his phone upwards to take yet another picture. It was only the shutter noise that woke him back to the present.

 “You really need to start asking permission for the things you do”, Ivan chastised.

 “Sorry, couldn’t resist! You just looked so cute!” was Alfred’s overused excuse. But when Alfred showed the photo, he could somewhat understand. It was a rare look on Ivan – tranquil and unguarded. The times Ivan felt this at peace were scarce these days. For a reason, he knew – but he just couldn’t bring himself to care right then.

 “It’s a good shot.”

 “You’re really photogenic when you’re not being an ass. I’m gonna make it my wallpaper.”

They spent most of the evening on the sofa, Ivan reading and Alfred half lying down on him watching TV. When Alfred asked to stay the night again, Ivan couldn’t come up with a reason to drive him out. He found he even _enjoyed_ having the other there to fall asleep with. Alfred was a magnificent distraction – so much so that Ivan wanted to believe him when he had said he would support Ivan. The boy didn’t have the faintest of what he would be getting into if he were serious, but Ivan wanted to live that lie for a little while.

~¨:.:¨~

Since Al didn’t have work that day, he made breakfast so Vanya could sleep in a few more minutes. There was no bacon in the fridge, so unfortunately he had to make just eggs with the bread and coffee. Al should start bringing more food in Vanya’s fridge, the guy ate disgustingly healthy. Like, actual _veggies_ and _whole grain_ bread. The man needed some grease and red meat in him, stat.

They talked about nothing important at the table, there was nothing odd about Vanya’s behavior, so after Vanya left for work, Al texted Mattie.

_I think hes ok now_

Mattie was the best emotional support in the world. He hadn’t even met Vanya but already cared about the man’s well-being. It was mostly thanks to him that Al had gone to check up on Vanya. He had planned to just call, but Mattie had suggested seeing him in person, because it’s so easy to act fine when not face to face. Sometimes Vanya could be pretty good at pretending to be okay even face to face, but Al doubted he could’ve pretended such a peaceful smile. His whole being had been so relaxed, his eyes had seemed to say something super sappy like _He’s such a catch, I can’t believe how much I love him_. Al probably looked at Vanya like that constantly, but he never made a scene of it because Al was so naturally open and obviously lovestruck that it was more newsworthy if he _didn’t_ make a face like that.

And it really was a good picture. Al decided to make it his lock screen wallpaper. They should take a proper picture together some time. For now the only pictures of them together were Al’s dark and blurry shots from their date nights. Vanya didn’t have any, as far as Al knew, since he claimed to be not much of a photographer. Al begged to differ, since the pictures of his sisters in the entrance way were excellent and artistic. The one taken by someone else, with all three siblings in it, was significantly less well lit, stiffly posed, and oddly framed, like someone on Katie’s other side had been cropped out. Or maybe that was just because of the size of the frame, it looked like the bottom of the picture had also been cut to fit a bit better. It wasn’t the standard 5 by 7 like the other photos. Still, it looked like Nattie’s side could have been cut more to make the picture more centered. Katie’s shoulder was cut in half while Nattie’s side had some room to spare. Well, Vanya did look pretty young in the picture, around 14, maybe he had cropped the picture back then and made a bad job of it because of his inexperience. In all the other pictures the girls were both already in their twenties and perfectly centered.

Would Vanya put a photo of Al on display in his home? He wasn’t the least bit ashamed of fawning over his sisters, but how would he feel about parading around his boyfriend? Al wouldn’t be surprised if Vanya had a family portrait – well maybe not _family_ , given how he reacted to mentions of his parents – on his desk at work, but he doubted he’d put one of Al next to that. Maybe once they got married.

Oops, there he went again. _If_ they got married! If. But Al was pretty sure they’d get there some day.

_Ima stay in ur place k?_

_Ill make dinner w u get home_

_You already made breakfast, I’ll do you a favor and cook for you, podsolnukh_

Fine by Al! Even if it would be some weird traditional Russian food, he hated cooking enough to eat almost anything as long as he didn’t need to make it. _Almost_ being the key word there, because not even a starving stray dog would eat Artie’s creations. He still jogged to the store to get some dessert since there was nothing at Vanya’s place, and got them jelly donuts. Then Mattie texted to him, saying Al should keep a closer eye on Vanya than his previous boyfriends because he seemed to be the anxious type and a lot of the things Al liked he was probably uncomfortable with. _Duh_ , Al wasn’t dumb! He knew all that already! And Vanya wasn’t some baby that needed constant surveillance. He was an adult man. He could handle himself. Most of the time.

Al killed a few hours by playing around on his phone, got pizza for lunch, then tried watching a couple movies from Vanya’s shelf but they were all some kind of art films, so he gave up from boredom. He had left his laptop at home, so he was forced to open Netflix on his phone. Vanya did have a desktop computer in the bedroom, but he didn’t like Al using it because he had so-called _sensitive_ _material_ in there and was paranoid about Al taking a look, despite all the encryption. Vanya was so weird about his porn, it wasn’t like Al would judge him for liking something fucked up. Al wasn’t that normal himself.

When Vanya got home, he hugged Al tight and teasingly lifted him up so his feet dangled in the air, only letting him down after a few kisses. Seeing Vanya in such a wonderful mood made Al’s insides all gooey. He felt like a stupid high school boy again, sweet on his first boyfriend and naming their future children. They joked around at the table and cuddled on the couch after dinner. Al turned on the tv while Ivan went over some notes from work, written in Russian specifically so Al couldn’t read them.

Since Vanya was feeling so good, Al thought they could use this opportunity to take back the failed date attempt on Tuesday. Vanya being in a good mood usually meant he tolerated Al’s extrovert tendencies more and complained less about going out.

 “Feel like going for a drink?”

Vanya lowered his notebook and weighed his options for a short while.

 “I suppose I do owe you a night out, since you didn’t get the one you wanted on Tuesday.”

 “Great! Jack told me used to bartend at this bar, wanna go check it out?”

 “Alright. But just one drink. You have work tomorrow”, Vanya reminded him. Damn lucky bastard and his free weekends.

 “Yeah yeah, I only get drunk because you’re so damn competitive! But anyway, if we go now there won’t be too many people in.”

The night wasn’t even young, it was a toddler. Most places were only just opening and almost empty. That worked perfectly with Vanya, who hated crowds – the more crowded and loud it got, the antsier Vanya would become. He’d try to create more and more space between himself and strangers the more people poured in, poorly pretending the crowd didn’t bother him, until finally he’d break and start openly glaring at anyone closer than arm’s length and constantly check the time.

Vanya agreed that it would be best to be early, claiming it was only because Al would need to go to sleep before midnight. Al punched him on the shoulder, because he made it sound like Al was a child who needed his full eight hours to function properly. He _preferred_ to have his full eight hours, because who didn’t and the dickhead next to him made it ten whenever he could so _he_ was one to talk, but Al could wake up perfectly fine with maybe five hours. He’d just take a nap the next day.

Ivan insisted on getting changed because he claimed to smell, and even closed the bedroom door so Al couldn’t peek. Al had expected some kind of surprise sexy get up because of that, but was sorely disappointed. Ivan really had just changed into normal clothes. Or maybe he’d put on some funky underwear? Ooooo, that would be so great! Like a cherry on top of a great date! Al could hardly wait!

As punishment for teasing him, Al tied Vanya’s signature scarf to a bow on his neck. But Vanya had decided to be especially merciless that day, so he actually went out like that. Al undid the bow without a word one block away from the apartment. He did _not_ miss the smug little smirk Vanya flashed at him. Al had his revenge by talking about his coworkers the whole way to the bar.

Al had never been to the bar before, so he hadn’t known what to expect. The only things he had known beforehand about the place were the address and that Jack used to work there about ten years ago. And seeing the place Al could totally see it as a place Jack, one of the most boring people ever conceived, could bartend in - pretty small, kinda quiet, with a multi-generational vibe to it. Not clearly for twenty-somethings, not clearly for forty-somethings. Once the hour got later, it would probably turn into more of a nightclub, but at eight, it was sorta quiet and unassuming, a bit more classy than your usual drinking bar. You could actually talk without even raising your voice to a shout. Two tiny dance floor instead of one bigger, more booths than tables, to give a little more privacy. The kind of place Vanya preferred. Al liked the quieter places alright, as long as he had someone interesting to pass the time with, but what he really _lived for_ was crowds, he loved nothing more than the pulse of an overfowing dancefloor, enjoyed talking and dancing with strangers, and feeling the bass of loud music. He still went to straight-up nightclubs on the weekends he wasn’t with Vanya, but on dates he wanted them both to have as much fun as possible.

They both got a beer at the counter – Al demanded Vanya try it out, because it was his favorite brand. Vanya wasn’t a beer person, but gave it a try for Al’s sake. He liked it enough to not pass it onto Al after the first sip. Though Vanya was hardly the type to not finish a drink even if he hated it - if it was in front of him, he would finish it.

 “Good, ain’t it?”

 “It isn’t the worst beer I’ve tried”, Vanya amended. That basically meant it was the best damn beer he’d ever tasted, despite what the sour face might indicate.

 “Told ya it’s the best! Now, tell me about your day. Nab any criminals lately?”

 “We’re no closer to finding a viable suspect. At this point I don’t know that much more than you do.”

 “Gimme some ‘a dat juicy confidential info! I’ll make it up to you later”, Al winked. Vanya wasn’t convinced, and refused any further talk about work. But Al was determined to hear more, so he kept buying his lover more beers, who was helpless to refuse them, while making sure to stay sober himself. About an hour and three beers later, Vanya finally started revealing a bit more about the case.

 “Everyone’s frustrated, there’s no evidence and no clues. The man’s smart, you have to admit”, he said with a weirdly appreciative tone. Creepy. He needed a reminder of what _kind_ of smart man BK was.

 “Too bad he uses those smart for something evil. Can you even imagine what a shitty person he is? He doesn’t just murder, he _tortures_.”

 “You’re not the first to say that”, Vanya answered flippantly. Every now and then Al got the feeling Vanya didn’t really care all that much about the victims – he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something about the way Vanya spoke about them, it kind of felt a little disrespectful, maybe? That he forgot what they had gone through and that they were _dead_ , with heart-broken families left behind? Mattie would have known exactly what was off, but they didn’t talk with each other – they knew _of_ each other, of course, Mattie had been the first to know about Vanya and Al’s one month anniversary, and siblings tend to come up in conversation. “Everyone needs a hobby, I suppose”, Vanya finished, shrugging, like he was talking about graffiti artists. _This_ was what Al meant by disrespectful – like he wasn’t talking about torture and murder.

 “Murdering people is a shit hobby. He should take up boxing or something if he really _needs_ to punch something.”, Al sneered, upset and somewhat regretting bringing up the subject. His reactions to the fates of the poor victims were profoundly different from Vanya’s, and reminded him that there was something undeniably wrong with Vanya’s brain.

 “That would only make him more dangerous. So far all the victims have been weak, you wouldn’t want him taking down MMA fighters. Or firemen”, Vanya countered.

 “But wasn’t that one guy like six foot two?”

Vanya thought for only a moment before figuring out who exactly Al was talking about.

 “Turner, 6 feet, 130 pounds, dancer. Looked taller because he was so thin. Didn’t know the first thing about self-defense.”

The conversation started feeling like one of those _who would win, Batman or Superman_ arguments. Was it just Vanya’s illness, or did _all_ homicide detectives become like this? What about pathologists? If Al some day got into the academy, would _he_ in time become as nonchalant about rape, death and torture? He liked to think no, his compassion was more deep-rooted than that – but Vanya was a bleeding heart deep under all that pretend indifference, had he at one point been like Al? Could he with utmost certainty say that he would never look at a body and _not_ feel sad?

 “And the last victim was the twinkiest twink you’ve ever seen.”

 “Poor boy”, Al said and felt his heart squeeze. He was sure he would _never_ talk like that about someone who had been strangled and beaten for hours, until no healthy skin was left anywhere, then castrated and cut open while still alive, no matter how many years he worked for homicide.

 “I think you would’ve liked him”, Vanya mused.

 “How the hell would _you_ know?” You didn’t even give enough of a shit to call _him young and thin_ instead of _twink_ , how would you know what kind of a person he was.

Vanya looked taken aback, and apparently only then realized he wasn’t completely sober. How he had gotten drunk enough to not know what he was saying was anyone’s guess, since it always took a good five shots of hard liquor to get him tipsy. All Al knew was that he had learned to read the signs pretty well - more relaxed speech, more open posture, more absent-minded smiling. Vanya never started slurring or stumbling, he just became happier. Al wished that could be his natural state. Maybe with time, and some tender, loving care.

 “Sorry, I should not talk about cases with civilians.”

 “’S okay, ‘s just me. So how’d you know I’d like him?”

Vanya wasn’t completely swayed by the argument, but he sucked at saying _no_ to Al.

 “He had many friends. Very social, everyone said he had a taste for adventure and was always up for trying something new. He was well-known in the gay community.”

 “Wait, he was _actually_ gay? I thought you called him twink just to insult him.”

 “I told you I should not talk about the case with civilians. Read the papers and you will know everything you are allowed to. I do not trust myself to keep confidentiality right now.”

The weirdest thing about Vanya’s drunkenness was that he could tone it down at will. If he wanted to sober up, he would. He had displayed the ability a couple times before, but never this clearly. It was like alcohol had never entered the man’s system – gone were the casualness and smiles.

 “You’re such a tease today!” Al complained, because he was really getting curious again, despite Vanya’s callous words about the victims.

 “Only for you, my darling _podsolnukh_ ”, Vanya smiled, but the playful words were so clearly calculated to steer Al’s thoughts elsewhere it wasn’t even funny.

 “Don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of this, mister. I’ll kiss you.”

If he was drunk, Vanya would accept some level of canoodling in public, but sober he was super shy and didn’t even like holding hands. Threatening PDAs were a great way to get him back in line.

 “You leave me no choice, being so cunning as to get me drunk to unveil my secrets.”

 “That’s it, you’re getting smooched _right now_!”

Vanya did his best to push Al out of reach, but Al was the stronger of them and managed to smack him twice on the cheek.

 “You are making everyone uncomfortable”, Vanya muttered after Al finally left him alone.

 “ _You’re_ the one making a scene out of it! No one would have noticed a thing if you hadn’t been squealing like a pig!”

 “I was _not_ , and you should take other people in to consideration before pulling these stunts!”

 “Oh _yeah_?” Al said, and Vanya blanched at whatever horror he imagined Al would do next. Al allowed himself a victorious smirk before forming a wicked plan. He got up to stand on the seat.

 “HEY! EVERYONE!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, and only a couple heads of the ten or so turned to look.

 “Stop that! _Get down_!” Vanya screamed.

 “THIS GUY IS MY HUNNY BUN – urk!”

Vanya pulled Al down by his collar and dragged him out, so red in the face he could’ve been mistaken for Clifford. He was so embarrassed Al had no doubt he would’ve walked home without his coat if Al hadn’t complained about being cold. And even then he refused to enter the bar again, staying outside while Al went to finish Vanya’s last beer and grab their clothes. He was so embarrassed that Al felt a real need to apologize – apparently only Vanya could trigger this feeling in him, the only other time he had felt the same need was after causing that panic attack. Vanya accepted it, but not without a long string of Russian expletives – because let’s be honest, they couldn’t be anything else. Then he said he would turn Al’s thermostat all the way down as revenge. Al had expected Vanya would want to stay at his own place, his comfort zone, after a shock like that, but didn’t question the decision. After all, Al’s home was a mile closer, and there was no way he was walking _any_ further than necessary in the wet snow.

The streets were mostly empty, but a little past halfway Al spotted a couple making out at a bus stop. He felt a bit jealous, a lot of his past exes had been wary of displaying their sexuality out in public - understandably, sure, since so many of them lived in the south. But even Vanya, who had never shown a single sign of being anywhere near the closet, hated showing affection in public. Al on the other was a very tactile person. He _needed_ touches, however small, and loved hugging and kissing. Even though Vanya had gotten more cuddly in private, he still rarely initiated, though he at least followed Al’s lead easily. Al liked to think it wasn’t just because Vanya wanted to appease him, but him finding more comfort in Al’s touch because he was finally falling in love.

Al pointed out the smooching couple to Vanya, who made a face.

 “Oh c’mon, it’s cute! They’re not afraid to show their love! Unlike _some_ people”, Al teased, and Vanya got a little mad about being reminded of the bar incident.

 “Lust, more like”, Vanya scoffed loudly. “It’s just not appropriate. They should be more considerate of other people.”

 “No one’s died of seeing a little affection, babe”, Al argued.

 “No one’s died of public urination, and yet I don’t see you advocating for _that_.”

 “C’mooooooon, just a lil kiss? I really wanna kiss you. That straight couple _inspired_ me.”

 “No. And you shouldn’t fetishize an orientation.”

 “I wasn’t fetishizin’ no orientation, I just saw them doing somethin’ I wanna do. How ‘bout just a teeny tiny peck?”

 “No.”

 “First you’re a tease and then you’re a _bore_. Boo.”

Vanya chuckled at that, and then took one gloved hand out his pocket.

 “We can hold hands, if it makes you happy. I don’t mind.”

Al took the hand with a giddy smile and squeezed it gently. Vanya’s sweetness shone through these little gestures, and said so much more than his words did. Why couldn’t Al have met him years ago? Woulda spared him a lot of heartache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh boy were there some hints about Ivan’s past here! Good luck trying to decipher them because they’re super subtle:D Ivan hates thinking about it so much he skirts around the subject even when it’s on his mind:D There was another hint in ch 3, possibly even more subtle because it looks like he means it in a different way. I’m having way too much fun with these impossible-to-notice hints, like this fic was Steven Universe or Dark souls where the slightest details and word choices produce five different fan theories each.  
> Also I was reading the Hetalia wiki for some info on Belarus and it said that she uses a lot of profanity… I said in the first chapter that she’s a refined lady who rarely curses^^’ Well luckily it’s not a huge part of her character so it probably won’t come up much in the fic:D Dunno if I’m going to retcon that first chapter or not.
> 
> Tashenka and Katyusya: If I’ve understood diminutives correctly, Tashenka should be one more level more intimate than Tasha, and Katyusya one more level more intimate than Katyushka. I use these diminutives to imply protectiveness by the addresser, but I don’t know if I’m doing it correctly. (I actually used Tashenka in the last chapter, but forgot to mention it in the notes…)
> 
> _Coño, vosotros dos os llevais super mal: Damn, you guys get along horribly._  
>  Natasha, eto nichego ne znachit. Uspokoysya.(Наташа, это ничего не значит. Успокойся.): Natasha, this means nothing. Stay calm.  
> Ya etogo ne prinimayu!(Я этого не принимаю!): I don’t accept this!  
> Pochemu eto khorosho, kogda ya delayu eto s Katyushkoy? Khil' nichem ne otlichayetsya.(Почему это хорошо, когда я делаю это с Катюшкой? Хиль ничем не отличается): Why is it alright when I do this to Katyushka? Gil is no different.(Gil is a tricky name to render in Cyrillics – it’s pronounced Hil and Russian has no plain H sound… So it turns into Khil:D Is that a bad omen or something??? Could be????[It’s a complete coincidence, but it’s true that she was meant to die from the moment she entered the story])
> 
> Chapter name comes from Мой костер в тумане светит(Moy koster v tumane svetit) which is apparently a folk song. Judging by the fact that when you Google it, ten different performers pop up… I forgot to bookmark the page where I originally found the song and can’t find more info on it in English…


	7. Stars In Puddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word of warning: I’m starting to feel my interest in this fic waning(you can tell by how badly the transitions are handled in this chapter), so if I ever do finish the next chapter, it will be several months to the future. Any possible co-authors are free to contact me!:) Honestly I’m surprised I lasted this long, usually I lose interest in my stories after a couple months and I’ve been actively writing this fic for about 7 already.  
> Now that my whinings are out of the way, YAY! We’re finally getting to the part where Al’s subconscious starts making connections! When I started publishing this fic I thought I had everything planned, which is why the summary makes it sound like it would get to this point way, way faster – there were supposed to be a lot more timeskips, allowing their relationship to develop in less pages. I feel like a clickbaiter, maybe I should rewrite the summary. The focus was originally much more on the internal conflict on suspecting your loved one of being a serial killer and wanting to have faith in them, but as I kept writing, it shifted more and more towards learning how to stop blaming yourself. Al was supposed to be protagonist while Ivan would be the deuteragonist, but the dynamic switched completely.  
> It’s annoying that I keep forgetting to write more interactions with Matthew and Artie. I always mean to incorporate them more in the story, so it wouldn’t look like an asspull when I bring up their comments about Ivan. I’m so concentrated on the romance part that I forget people have friends and family, too orz

Al woke up comfortably bruised. It was good morning, even if he had to get up for work. Even Vanya didn’t whine too much about being woken on his day off, just a few Russian curses slipped out. Al put on the coffee while Vanya made sandwiches for them both. And he didn’t complain about the white bread, weird. But not unwelcome.

 “I’m running out of sugar”, Al commented. He liked his coffee sweet as a cupcake. Vanya usually took his plain black, sometimes he took a drop of milk. He was the worst Starbucks client. “Remind me to go the store after work. And a couple bananas, and cheese. You want a specific kind or can I just whatever I feel like?”

Vanya was still dead to the world, and didn’t comment in any way. He hadn’t even taken out his phone to check the news. Maybe last night’s outing had taken the juice out of him – though he hadn’t been any less tired in bed than usual. More tender than he used to, but not tired. He must’ve woken up from deep sleep, it’d just take him a bit to get his engine going.

 “You know you don’t need to get up with me on weekends, right? I’m a big boy. I can make my own breakfast. You like your sleep, I’ll just come get my goodbye kiss from you in bed.”

Vanya just kept absently chewing on his bland sandwich. He really was in another world that morning.

 “Every now and then you remind me of an old colleague. Adi. He didn’t do 24 hour shifts like I do, he did 12 hours, he had some kind of condition or something, I never really found out.” Al slurped his coffee loudly because it annoyed Vanya, but this time the fish didn’t bite. Al shrugged and got himself a bowl of cereal. “Anyway. He always started his shifts shuffling around like a zombie, until his third cup of coffee. He was pretty quiet and only ate bread. I don’t think I saw him with a real lunch even once.”

Still not even a _hmm_ or an _oh_.

 “Well, really the only thing you guys have in common is your pre-coffee zombie state and quietness. He at least liked his colleagues. It’s not like you talk a lot about your colleagues, so I assume you don’t like them all that much. I don’t even know your partner’s name. You’re all about those professional relationships, amirite?” Al rambled while shoveling the cereal into his mouth, letting the crumbs fly all over the table. Still no reaction from Vanya. He just kept staring into nothing, frowning slightly. “Man, you’re really out of it today, aren’t you?”

While it was far from unusual for Vanya to be quiet and thoughtful, it wasn’t like him to be _silent_. Even when he wasn’t really listening to Al, he’d still make the occasional comment to show that just because he wasn’t paying attention, it didn’t mean he didn’t know what was going on around him. He hadn’t even rolled his eyes at Al’s Frosties! And believe him when he said, Vanya _never_ missed a chance to judge the hell out of Al’s shitty diet. That was cause for concern, and combined with the silence it became _alarming_.

Al flicked his oblivious boyfriend on the forehead, and honestly he wouldn’t have been surprised if even _that_ hadn’t woken him from the waking coma.

 “What was that for?” Vanya muttered quietly, just for show, because he damn well knew what that was for.

 “Something on your mind, honey?” Al probed impishly, pretending nonchalance. If he let it slip he was actually concerned, Vanya would just claim everything was perfect. And judging by the long, assessing look he was contemplating saying so anyway.

 “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ve only been talking to you the whole morning without getting a single word in kind.”

Vanya took a sip of his coffee, obviously buying time to form an answer that would reveal the least of what was going on in his head, while still technically answering the question.

 “I was just thinking about Dubois”, he finally said with pretend casualness. Any idiot could tell that if it was so insignificant, he’d be acting normal. _Insignificant_ doesn’t dominate your thoughts – Dubois was a big deal for Vanya, for some reason. “He was in my dream last night.”

Something about this victim definitely mattered to Vanya, unlike all the others. Could it just be that the victim was a gay man, like Vanya and Al? He definitely didn’t react this way to young _straight_ men being murdered, the victim before Dubois, what was his name again? Al had known it at some point. Whatever, Vanya hadn’t given two shits about him, or that dancer dude who had come up last night.

Al decided to go with the humoristic approach, it seemed like the one most likely to get some real answers out of Vanya instead of avoidance and belittling. He was kinda prone to that.

 “What the hell man? Were you cheating on me in your sleep?” Al joked, and the nervous bark of laughter sent some frosties crumbs flying at Vanya. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Al couldn’t help but snort at the brief sneer of disgust on Vanya’s face. His mouth did the funniest little squirm.

 “I would never”, Vanya answered, like he was in control of his dreams. He took a bite out of his sandwich, again trying to come up with a harmless answer that would tell nothing. “I couldn’t tell you two apart and was very distressed about that. You looked and sounded exactly alike.”

Guess that’s dream logic for you – when you slightly resemble someone in real life, your unconscious decides you’re one and the same. Al wondered if he and Dubois also looked alike, or if it was just their personalities that Vanya found similar. There should be plenty of photos online, they guy had been a social butterfly _and_ a high-profile murder victim.

 “So him, Mattie and me were like identical triplets?”

 “No, he was just a copy of you. He even called me a freak of nature with a rape fetish, like you did that one time.”

 “Oh, right. That really pissed you off, didn’t it.”

 “You never apologized for it.”

 “Well it’s not like you apologized to _me_ either, but I forgave you anyway. You’re telling me you didn’t?”

 “No. It really hurt me.”

That had been their first fight, _and_ their worst. And it had only been on their second week together! Man, Vanya and Al really did make the best couple, if they could survive a fight like that! It had started as an innocent round of the insult game and developed into a hurt fest with only the most scathing of insults. Of course Al hadn’t been the only one to fling deeply personal and completely baseless accusations - Vanya had called Al a hemorrhoidic whore, among other things. Al had been five seconds away from pushing him out the fourth floor window, and Vanya had been even more ready for murder. And he was the cop in the relationship! Vanya could be sweetest guy in the world, but goddamn if he couldn’t also radiate bloodlust.

 “Alright, alright, I’m sorry.”

 “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

 “Seriously though, if you ever cheat on me I’ll beat you up.”

 “No, he just reminds me of you, you two were very similar. If someone told a story of you two without mentioning names, I wouldn’t know which one was being talked about.”

 “Wow, thanks for making me feel like such an individual”, Al grumbled. “I just love it when my bedmates can’t tell me apart from their previous conquests.” Jokes aside, that _had_ actually happened once.

 “You’re not a conquest for me”, Vanya protested immediately, with 100% honesty and conviction. His sweet side sometimes couldn’t tell jokes from real complaints. “Outside of Katyusha and Natasha, you are the only person I care about.”

 “Relax, loverboy, I believe you! But if you want me to believe you even more, you can give me a ride to work and back home.”

 “I can drive you to work, but my work is piling up. I have too many things to do to drive you home.”

 “Eh, I’ll take my own car then.”

Al suspected that Vanya just needed a real holiday, a couple days to really indulge his isolationist tendencies. That was fine – Al still didn’t get it all that well, but he had skimmed a couple articles about introvertism. The most he had gotten out of them was that socializing tires introverts out. So Al chose to let him have his peace, and not even text him first. He was immensely glad when Vanya sent him a text on Sunday afternoon asking if something was wrong – he had expected the hermit to just be glad for the uninterrupted peace. Maybe Al really _was_ changing him for the better! It might not take that long until Al would be let in completely. Vanya might even make a friend eventually. He’d be healthy and happy, thanks to Al!

 

-_-_-_-_-

 

Al was in bed by the time he remembered he had meant to look up Dubois’ photo. Wasn’t that just like his subconscious, recalling the most meaningless things right when he was falling asleep. And then the thought just wouldn’t leave him be – he was still just as tired as before, but all the hot chocolate in the world wouldn’t be enough to make fall asleep. What was so damn special about Dubois? First Vanya was obsessed with him, and now _Al_? What did he ever have to do with Dubois? He hadn’t known the guy, he didn’t know anyone who had, he had so little bearing in his life it was almost negative.

But fine. Whatever you want, subconscious. Al did an image search for Alexis Dubois, and for a second thought the was looking at photos of himself - the face in the pictures could’ve been of Al and Mattie’s long-lost brother. The same shade of blond hair, same overall features, same round, blue eyes, the exact same lively smile as Al, as well as his hilariously large social circle. It was really creepy, seeing an essential clone of yourself had lived in the same city. Then he made the mistake of watching a few short videos. Even their _voices_ sounded similar! No wonder Vanya had trouble telling them apart. Dubois could’ve impersonated Al in a dim room, if it wasn’t for that French accent. His IG said he’d been born in Quebec, but not which city – if he had lived in Montreal at the same time as Mattie, that would have been even freakier, like he had deliberately impersonated them both.

That explained why Vanya was so affected by this one victim. He only needed to squint a tiny bit, and it looked like Al was the one who had been tortured and murdered. Al could only imagine how he would feel like if he saw a body that looked exactly like Vanya. He’d sleep even less than Vanya, for sure, and couldn’t hold it together half as well.

_Ily bae miss u <3_

_Next date on wed?_

Al tried to just concentrate on nonsense fluffy thoughts to relax himself, since Vanya wasn’t in the habit of checking his phone in the night. He was usually in bed at ten, and most texts Al sent after that wouldn’t be read until morning. There had been a couple nights when an answer had been sent in the wee hours, but there was no reason to expect that to happen this time. And yet, Al just couldn’t shake the weird feeling he had about Dubois. The guy had some kind of posthumous superpower of messing with men’s heads. Or maybe he had been like that in life, too? What if him and Al had met before he died, would Al have thought he _himself_ was the doppelganger? Which of them should have thought the other was a clone? Logically it would be Dubois, since he was younger than Al… But would Dubois agree? What if he was just as sure of his originality as Al was of his? Which one would Vanya vouch for? It should be Al, of course it would be Al, wouldn’t it? Vanya loved Al. Just as much as Al loved him.

Didn’t he?

 

-_-_-_-_-

 

_I love you_

Read 2:17 AM.

Artie and Mattie had been right about Ivan all along. That _asshole_! He was only using Al for sex! Well he wasn’t gonna get away with it – the second Al saw him again, he’d beat the ever-living _shit_ out of that dickhead without explanations and pack up his bags! No one needed a leech like that in their life. And what a great actor that leech was! Making Al think he had a rich inner life and problems and that he wanted to be a part of Al’s world! Man, Al was such a sucker. He could envision Ivan laughing his ass off at Al’s gullibility, maybe retelling the best moments to his sisters in hysterics.

_Bitch left me on read can u bliev it_

_Jfc ima fucking murder him_

_Keep calm, who did and what did you say?_

Ugh, it was _always_ Al’s fault wasn’t it? Thank God Al hadn’t acted on his crush all those years ago, or he’d be bald for ripping all his hair out of frustration with Artie.

_Ivan! Who else_

_N i just said ily_

_So fukin mad_

Now that Al had slept a bit and gotten his mind back on track, he realized how stupid he’d been to feel insecure about Dubois. Al was Al, and he was the greatest. If someone couldn’t see that, it was their loss. Ergo, it was Ivan’s fault for fucking up! Ugh, Al was so mad at him. _So_ mad! Who the hell leaves an _I love you_ on read! God, what a _dickhead_! Al wouldn’t agree to that date on Wednesday if Ivan got on his knees and begged on town square! _No one_ left Alfred. F. Jones on read!

_You’re the type who says that all the bloody time, he’s just tired of typing the same reply over and over_

_Fyi hes nevr said it back_

_He doesnt love me_

That was just a fact. Al knew how he was supposed to feel about that - be furious and yell at Ivan. And yes, he was angry, but mostly he was just _sad_. Way sadder than he had been the all the previous times he thought he had found a keeper. He was planning to break up with Ivan, but by God, he couldn’t imagine actually going through with it. The asshole had ensnared Al with his foreign charm and adorable smiles. The duplicitous dickhead.

_You twat, you’ve been together for all of two months, give it time you drama queen_

_And by the way, Francis can make it to the Christmas party, you’ll have the guestroom for yourself_

_Ew_

_Shut up you brat! I know you don’t like him but there’s no need to be so rude_

For the life of him, Al couldn’t understand what Artie saw in that frog-sucking pervert snob. They never seemed to do anything other than bicker and fight. Artie had threatened divorce at least ten times during the seven years they had been married. Why would anyone, under _any_ circumstance, take a husband they can’t stand 90% of the time? Artie didn’t even have the excuse of having been pregnant.

_Hes a jerk_

_He molessts evrbd_

_He’s just a flirt, he doesn’t mean anything by it_

Oof, the classic _he doesn’t mean anything by it_ excuse, the go-to war cry of every unhappy spouse. Why did they keep pretending their spouse wouldn’t abandon them for one night with a hot twenty-something? And even if they did, they could just say a simple _Sorry, love_ and they’d immediately be taken back. Why would anyone let themself be treated like that?

_U SURE?_

_Cuz if vanya evr pinchd a butt id punch him_

_I mean ivan im mad asthim_

_If he did ittwice id leave him_

Oh, right, Al was supposed to leave him anyway for not loving him. But there were still good sides to him – the sex of course, and he was a pretty great chef, and he was loyal. Vanya had said he would never cheat on Al, and he believed it whole heartedly.

Damnit, _Ivan_! No petnames until Ivan apologized.

_You’re too severe, Francis is just a playful flirt, he likes making others feel wanted and sexy_

_An thats y u got with him rite_

_What if he maked some blonde bombshell feel wantd n sexy_

_Just because he’s bi doesn’t mean he would cheat on me every change he got! You need to talk with him more, you’d see he’s so much more than you think_

Talking to Francis for any longer than ten seconds was infuriating. He was just so goddamn in love with himself, and only saw other people as targets for sexual harassment. The second the how-do-you-dos were over he’d start hitting on you, all skeezy and with the grace of a man fall-down drunk. The only saving graces of that man were his fashion sense and cooking, and he had to be such a smug bastard about _those_ , too. Maybe Vanya being slow to trust wasn’t that bad, compared to that aura of egotism. At least Vanya wouldn’t spend most of his husband’s birthday party advocating for naked Olympics because he wanted to drool over the athletes. Al knew that the obnoxious Frenchman had friends, but how any of them tolerated him was a mystery for the ages. Even with Artie it had been hate at first sight, but then hijinks had ensued and somehow they ended up hooking up a couple weeks later. A bet about who was the better cook had been involved in some way, but honestly, Al had been too busy whining about his latest breakup to care. He’d been 21 and his first “serious” boyfriend, i.e. they’d fooled around for more than three times and lasted a month, had dumped him by text that same morning. Al could totally picture Francis doing the same to Artie once someone younger caught his eye. Not that it would ever happen because he was the most annoying person in the history of the universe.

Man, Al couldn’t wait for Vanya to meet Francis so they could complain about him together! Vanya would see right through the bullcrap Francis spewed out! They were both foreign, so that French accent and fancy European suits wouldn’t fool him for the five minutes it did most Americans. Oh, and Vanya should totally wear a suit for that first meeting! To show that frog lover he wasn’t the only one who could rock a two-piece! Vanya was super adorable in his bulky sweaters but he’d look so _sophisticated_ in a suit! Al only wore suits to weddings and funerals, but he had to admit they did make a man look _damn_ fine. Girls weren’t the only ones crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man. Only thing better than suits was uniforms, oh man, _uniforms_. And Vanya’s dress uniform was like a uniform suit! _So_ hot. Such a shame he never wore it.

Bae wer ur uni on w

Oh, right, Al was mad at him. Just so unbelievably mad at him!

_Sill mad at u but ill forgiv if u wear ur uni on wed_

Vanya was at work, so it’d probably take him a couple hours before he would answer. In the meanwhile, Al promised to try and talk with Francis if Artie stopped being so dismissive about Vanya. He was sure Artie only said he would because he was expecting Al to find a new boyfriend in two weeks’ time, like he usually did. He just refused to see that Vanya was different from all the others. Al complained about it to Mattie, whose only comment was _It’s nice that you finally found someone you get along with_ , like Al usually fought with everyone! That was so not true. Al got along with everyone!

 

-_-_-_-_-

 

As Al had predicted, Vanya answered the text a little past five pm.

_You are angry with me? I apologize, although I do not know what I did_

What the fuck, man?! Al was calling him right this second, and bitch better answer!

 “Yes?” Vanya asked all nervous, like he was receiving a call from a time bomb. Damn straight!

 “I said I love you and you left me on read! _That’s_ what you did!” Al yelled, and really wished they were talking face to face, because right then one thing he wanted most in the world was to punch that giant nose.

 “Oh. I did not realize it was such an important thing for you.”

Holy. Fucking. _Shit_. How dense was this guy?! For someone who was constantly chided for his social retardedness, Al sure knew a whole lot more than _certain_ ignoramuses!

 “Of _course_ it’s important to me you dipshit! How would _you_ feel if I just stayed silent when you say I love you, huh?”

 “I would never say that.”

 “ _Excuse me?!_ ”

 “Oh, that did come out a bit wrong, I suppose. I meant that I don’t know you well enough to love you. I am very fond of you, yes, but that is a different thing from love.”

Siiiiiigh. Get a load of _this_ guy. Like, this guy was _so_ damn emotionally clueless. Love wasn’t about _knowing_ someone, it was about feeling a connection and chemistry! Love at first sight was absolutely a real thing, and in those cases, you didn’t know jack shit about the other person.

 “I really don’t think it is, you’re ju-”

 “I assure you, it is”, Ivan _very_ rudely interrupted. He even continued to completely ignore Al’s _I wasn’t done talking_ and just went on explaining his pessimistic view. “I cannot know what secrets you hold, if you are just going through a phase, your views on things I hold dear, there is so much I don’t know about you. And there is very little you know about me, which is why you should consider your words and feelings more carefully.”

Vanya had the weirdest ability to make Al’s feelings swing from one end of the spectrum to the other in mere seconds. Only sentences earlier Al had been all for beating the living daylights out of the man, and now he only wanted to reassure him that Al’s love for him was unconditional.

 “I know you’re a sweet and responsible guy, Vanya”, Al said softly. Vanya had a horrible self-esteem and seemed to think he wasn’t worthy of love. Making him see reason might take a long time, but Al had no problem helping him get there. “That’s enough for me. I know I love you.”

 “I know you don’t”, Vanya countered harshly, just as sure of his completely backwards view as Al was of his. While he softened his tone considerably as he continued, it was clear he had no intention of reconsidering Al’s words. “It’s alright, that’s how it should be. I don’t expect it of you, so don’t feel like you have to say it.”

 “Vanya… are you okay?”

 “Yes, of course. Why?”

He _always_ said he was fine. Al guessed that meant he considered himself unworthy of required attention. He didn’t want to worry anyone, when it would make Al much happier if Vanya let himself be worried about.

 “That just doesn’t sound like something a happy person would say.”

 “There is no need to worry about me.”

 “Okay… if you’re sure.”

 “Of course I am sure. But I think you mentioned something my uniform?”

There he went again, changing the subject. Fine, Al would let him get away with it this time, because he _really_ wanted to see him in that uniform. He had plenty of ideas…

 “Yeah, I wanna see you wearing it. Wednesday good for you?”

 “I will think about it. The suit is meant for special occasions, not for roleplaying.”

 “Pleeeeeeeeease? Just for a little while?”

 “I will think about it”, Vanya repeated, but chuckled in a way that told Al he would wear it. Score! “If you wouldn’t mind, could you come to my apartment at seven? I need to clean up a bit and go over some notes after work.”

 “Sure! Should I eat at home or are we gonna cook something?”

 “At home, but don’t have dessert. I have a recipe I have been meaning to try out.”

~¨:.:¨~

 

Ivan’s dress uniform had seen very little wear. He didn’t even bother keeping it in a garment bag, it was just folded somewhere on the floor of his closet. He dusted it off and gave it a quick ironing right after coming home, to make it look like he took care of it. Alfred would never forgive him for neglecting a uniform.

The fit was still good, so at least Ivan hadn’t gained as much weight during the seven years as he had thought. He had forgotten how paper-white he looked in dark fabrics, but other than the death-paleness, it didn’t look as odd on him as he had thought. Then again, he had only been out of uniform for only two years. His old utility uniform might even look very familiar and right on him. Alfred most likely would have appreciated that one more than the formal uniform, but since they had to be returned when leaving the duty, it could not be helped. And the hat would only be on for the briefest of moments, it was too much of a hassle indoors.

He put on an apron so flour wouldn’t get on the black uniform, and set to baking the cake. Gil had given him the recipe some months ago, when Ivan had mentioned wanting to try baking something new. He had just put it in the fridge when the doorbell rang. Ivan quickly threw off the apron, hoped he looked passable, and went to open the door.

 “Mrreow, who’s _this_ stud over here?” Alfred purred and winked.

 “Am I to assume I am forgiven, then?” Ivan grinned. It was good to know Ivan’s paleness did not bother him as much as it did Ivan himself. He used to try and get a tan every now and then when he had been younger, but it was too much trouble when he burned in five minutes. He had mostly come to terms with his paleness, but Alfred with his ideal sunkissed tone often made him feel ugly and pasty. Ivan had been the palest officer in the force for seven years, and even then, he was sure the woman had just used make-up that was too light for her, as she often appeared somewhat less washed-out at the end of her shifts.

 “You bet your ass you’re forgiven, mister police man”, Alfred said and waggled his eyebrows, in that same cartoonishly exaggerated fashion he usually did. It was amazing, a true feat of physical prowess. He would win waggling world championship every year.

 “Mister fireman, I regret to inform that the cake needs to be refrigerated for three hours.”

 “Shoot. How many cups of coffee should I make while we wait?”

 “I will have tea, thank you.”

One of these days Ivan was going to get a samovar. And not one of those ugly modern ones either, but a real antique one. Intricately painted and coal-heated. He hadn’t yet found one that he both liked and could afford, but he kept a constant eye on antique shops and online auctions. Tea was a small luxury he allowed himself, he only bought the highest quality leaves, and his electric kettle could be set to heat the water to a certain degree.

Alfred kept throwing appreciative glances at Ivan while they both readied their respective drinks. The attention embarrassed him a little, but it wasn’t bad, per se. Even if there was little else in Ivan to look at, he could at least give Alfred this.

 “Y’know what’d be great? If you could steal a street uniform and pose in that!”

 “You are asking me a, an officer of the law, to commit a crime?” Ivan asked with a teasing grin.

 “Just a minor one”, Alfred purred. “Ya’d do it for me, wouldn’tcha?”

Ivan would commit major crimes for Alfred, but it was better that he did not know that. He would take advantage of it without a second’s deliberation to the consequences.

 “I would consider it if I could be sure I would be well compensated.”

 “Oh, you’d be _well compensated_ , alright…” Alfred purred, eyebrows waggling comically. He put a hand on Ivan’s knee and stroked it meaningfully. He was so turned on that Ivan could not resist making a joke.

 “Wonderful! I have been meaning to clean my toilet for ages! Can I expect my payment in advance?”

 “Dude! I’m trying to set a _mood_ in here!”

Ivan could only laugh at the indignant squeak.

 “I am only teasing you, _podsolnukh_. I am not that dense.”

 “You’re teasing me enough wearing that uniform…” Alfred mumbled, and came to sit on Ivan’s lap. Clearly the sight of a uniform was messing with his head, if he had forgotten about the treat waiting in the fridge. Alfred’s priorities were always sweets first, sex second.

 “And I will keep teasing you until you have praised my cake to the skies.”

 “Then bring on the cake! And put on your hat, I want the _full_ ensemble!”

 “It still needs two and a half hours of refrigerating”, Ivan reminded.

 “Who gives a crap, _bring on the cake_ if it means getting you naked!”

Ivan obliged with a chuckle and a salute. He lifted Alfred off his lap and walked to the fridge, with a little more flair to his steps than usual. Alfred ogled him so hard it was a miracle his eyes didn’t pop out of his head.

 “Oh my God, this cake is _amazing_!” Alfred exclaimed after his first bite. “What is this?”

 “Tres leches cake. Natasha’s neighbor gave me the recipe.”

 “ _Trays letchs_? So it’s like Spanish?”

 “Gil is from Peru, so assume it is more Latin American than Spanish.”

 “I only know burritos, but this shit is great. I need to try more Latin stuff, I’ll ask Gema tomorrow.”

Although Ivan suspected he hadn’t made the cake exactly the way it was meant to, not to mention it had been in the fridge for a fraction of the required time, it wasn’t bad. He should ask Gil if it was supposed to be that heavy and revoltingly sweet. Ivan was only able to have one thin slice, but Alfred liked it so much he took two large pieces. He would take the rest home with him tomorrow. It was good that at least something about this so called date night was geared towards Al – quiet evenings at home with nothing special planned were tailored to suit Ivan’s very different tastes. He felt bad about not taking Alfred out more, but when the American never complained, mustering up energy to brave packs of strangers was no easy task. Alfred asked for very little in compensation for going along with Ivan’s wishes – for him, just wearing the uniform was enough payment for coddling Ivan in bed that night, when he had clearly come in wishing to be brutalized. The thought had just made Ivan uncomfortable, he was no longer fine with hurting Alfred, even when it was asked of him.

Truth be told, most of what they did together was designed to make Ivan comfortable – they didn’t even cuddle as much as Alfred would like, because Ivan was still cautious about being intimate. A few minutes of spooning in bed after waking up was Ivan’s limit, when Alfred could have cuddled for hours on end. He must have felt stifled around him. But even though Ivan brought so little to the relationship, the socialite was still unflinching in his affection for Ivan. It baffled him to no end, as he saw few redeeming qualities in himself, but evidently Alfred had dug in deeper and found a buried treasure, one of pyrite. Perhaps he was fooled, perhaps not, and simply chose to keep it because it suited him better. He was a man of simple tastes, he would not even know what to do with real gold, should he ever chance upon it.

Even if it was all temporary, Ivan welcomed and held dear every moment spent with Alfred. He brought with him a tranquility Ivan had never imagined could have been possible. His mere presence was a sun in Ivan’s thoughts, driving away the blackness and leaving only cowering, thin shadows. Alfred singing along enthusiastically and dancing terribly to the latest monotonous pop music was a blessing in Superman briefs.

 “And here I thought you were an adult man. You need to stop shopping in the children’s department”, Ivan smirked behind his morning coffee.

 “ _No one_ is too old for Supes!” Alfred instantly objected, pointing his bacon spatula at Ivan accusingly. Ivan didn’t much care for bacon, but Alfred had brought roughly a year’s supply in Ivan’s fridge nonetheless. “And _you_ need some color in your wardrobe! It’s like I’m dating a formerly white shirt.”

 “Might I remind you that you were the one who ruined my latest wash? I should bill you for those formerly white shirts.”

 “Only because your washing powder had no English instructions!” Al protested, hands on hips. “Where’d you even _get_ it? You haven’t been to Russia in years!”

It had been a Christmas present from Katyushka, but where she had found it, he did not know. She had wanted it to evoke a sense of longing nostalgia - or perhaps she had deliberately meant to remind him of the past, she _was_ a Braginskaya after all, if an unusually benign one. Either way, it was a lovingly practical gift. Tasha had received a knife sharpener, if he remembered correctly. Ivan was very bad at buying gifts, so he always asked if his sisters had any wishes – for Tasha, it was usually sewing supplies, and Katyushka wished for small luxuries, like fancy soap. He supposed that this year he would need to ask Alfred, as well. Unfortunately Alfred was the type of person who wanted thoughtful surprises. The surprise part would be easy – just anything he couldn’t picture Alfred using, stockings for example. The hard part was making it thoughtful. Perhaps his brother could share his insight into Alfred’s psyche. Ivan had seen Alfred’s lock pattern many times, getting Matthew’s number was no obstacle.

Alfred was such an old-fashioned name, Ivan wondered if there was a reason one twin had received a much more modern name, while the other was made to sound like an old man.  He was far too youthful to be called something like _Alfred_ , but half the world called him Al, and Ivan was no longer satisfied with being one in a million to him. He should give the man a unique nickname, one only Ivan would use, a secret code for only the two of them.

 _Podsolnukh_ was too long and phonemically challenging for Alfred to pronounce, and the English Sunflower didn’t hold the same depth of meaning. And even if it did, Ivan was not ready to explain why sunflowers were so important to him, anyway. Not Fred. That was lazy, it had no personal touch. Someone might call him that accidentally.

...Fredya? Could that work? It would be unique to Ivan, and it was short enough that even Alfred would be able to remember and pronounce it. It also held an appropriate amount of affection for this stage of a relationship. He could add to it later, if it came to it.

 “Fredya”, he said out loud, trying it out, and it didn’t sound half bad.

 “I still don’t speak Russian, baby.”

 “No, it’s your name. Fredya.”

Alfred looked at him with wide eyes, lips stretching into a delighted smile. So it _had_ been a good idea. What a relief, Ivan had been a little worried he would reject it outright ‘cause he ain’t no commie, but a red-blooded ‘Murican who wore the stars and stripes proudly and spoke American.

 “Aww honeyyy! That’s so cute! Fredya?”

 “Fredya.”

 “It sounds so nice when you say it! So can I start calling you Vanya?”

It was a little late to be asking for permission seeing as how he had used the diminutive from the first time they met. It was still nice of him.

 “You have been using Vanya for much longer than you did Ivan.”

 “Yeah, ‘cuz it’s cute! And you’re cute! You two go together great. You just never gave official permission -  so can I or can I not call you Vanya?”

 “I don’t mind.” It made him feel warm. It felt like a welcome. It was one more flower added to his barren world.

Al held up his usual one-sided conversation during breakfast, and then gave Ivan a ride to work. He blew Ivan a kiss from the car window before speeding away. Toris happened to be at the station door and saw the whole thing. He looked astonished, but did not comment in any way.

 “Good morning”, Ivan smiled at him, and for once the morning truly was good.

 “Good morning”, Toris answered, and his confusion shone through. He was battling the desire to know more, and not wanting to intrude in personal business. He had worked with Ivan long enough to know not a single word would slip by Ivan’s lips voluntarily. Amanda would have no such reservations.

Their next words were not exchanged until the office, and they were strictly professional in nature.

 

~¨:.:¨~

 

The rest of the week Vanya had been busy with work, and on the weekend he needed to charge his batteries and meet with Nattie. That gave Al time to meet his friends, and Michael said he was planning a 90’s-themed birthday party. Al didn’t know Michael that well, he was just a mutual friend by Gema, but he was an ok guy, and even gave Vanya the ok to come if he wanted to. Vanya hadn’t met any of Al’s friends yet, and Vanya didn’t have friends for Al to meet, so it was a great opportunity. Unfortunately he had refused on speaker phone, with the words “If your friends are anything like you, they are a bunch of giggling idiots without a shred of decency. Feel free to waste your time on them by yourself”. In text it would have been fine because no one would have seen it, but Vanya had _known_ everyone could hear him – the little dickhead _wanted_ everyone to hate him. Mission accomplished, Gema had chastised him like only a Latina mom can, and then told Al he was better off without assholes like Vanya. Al let Vanya have it later via text, who said that arguing wasn’t about to change his feelings on the matter.

They couldn’t arrange another date until Friday, and decided to go to the movies and then make dinner together at Vanya’s place. They might go clubbing in the evening since they both had Saturday free, and could sleep in. They arranged to meet at a café across the street from the police station, and they’d walk to the theater. Finding a parking space anywhere near the theater would be impossible, so they’d just end up walking just as much if they went by car.

Vanya was right, the coffee shop really was like the station’s mess hall. Even at this hour there were three cops in uniforms. Al wondered how many more were in plain clothes. The menu had a lot of lunch options, but Al decided to just take something sweet so he wouldn’t ruin his appetite. Vanya was of course cooking, and supposedly it would be really good. Al had his doubts about that, since it would naturally be Russian food and he wasn’t looking forward to borsh or however you wrote that crazy word. Probably with three more Z’s sprinkled throughout and a Y at the end. Why did Russians have to make everything so complicated? They’d probably try to write _cupcake_ as _cyuapcyackzy_. Cupcakes were too good for something like that. Except maybe these. They looked really plain. Just a solid color frosting without any sprinkles. Al should probably go with the apple pie. Yeah, apple pie and a cappuccino. The waitress smiled at him and said she would bring them shortly, so Al picked a table for two and settled in.

  _Here wh u redy_ , he wrote to Vanya.

_I will be there in about ten minutes_

When the pie came, Al took a picture of it out of habit. It wasn’t Instagram worthy. No one else’d had anything interesting to photograph that day, either, so Al just stared out the window while sipping his coffee.

“I think I know you”, a stranger from the next table suddenly piped up. Al looked at him, tried to place him, but came up with nothing. Al may have been with Vanya, but he had to admit that the guy was hot. More his usual type, a bit bearish – built, but not overly, with a superhero’s jawline. Looked a bit like a brown-haired Captain America with Thor’s beard.

 “Sorry, can’t say the same ‘bout you.”

 “Nah, that’s fine. It might come back to me in a while. Name’s Kyle.”

The man rose up and came to Al’s table, offering his hand. Al took it and gestured for him to sit down, so Kyle got his coffee and sunny yellow cupcake and sat down with Al.

 “Are those any good? This is my first time in this place, wanted to play it safe and take the apple pie.”

 “They’re passable. I keep forgetting I don’t like buttercream.”

 “What are you, some kind of foreign spy?” Al laughed. Who doesn’t like buttercream? Al would have it for breakfast every morning if he didn’t need to worry about his waistline. Fast food was already pushing the line a bit too far, but Al didn’t like cooking so it was his only choice on the days he didn’t eat with Vanya – which wasn’t that often, since they usually didn’t have the time for several dates in a week and even then they didn’t always cook together, and usually went their separate ways after breakfast.

 “Wait! I think you’re a fireman, right?” Kyle suddenly said, and Al nodded. Kyle snapped his fingers, proud of his memory. “We must’ve met at a rescue site, I’m a paramedic.”

 “Cool! Left an impression, didn’t I?” Al laughed. He still didn’t remember the man, but at least with this it was confirmed he was no creep. He hadn’t felt like one, but it’s always good to know for sure.

 “Yeah. It’s coming back more now, you carried out the kids all by yourself”, Kyle replied, leaning back with his hand on his jaw.  “I meant to give you my name and number before we left for the hospital, but I couldn’t find paper.”

 “Shouldn’t you have been driving already by that point?” Al asked, pretending he hadn’t noticed the flirting. Kyle seemed like a cool guy, Al wouldn’t mind his company until Vanya got there. Saying you have a boyfriend tends to kill conversation with people who have the hots for you.

 “Nah, they were in good condition, mostly just spooked. You got them out before they inhaled much smoke.”

Kyle stirred his coffee while Al wracked his brain. No matter how he dug his memory, he couldn’t remember an incident with kids.

 “I don’t remember that at all. Must’ve been a tiny fire.”

 “It was, only one room burned, because a neighbor noticed the smoke really soon. I think the parents were out or something.”

Kyle eyed his disappointing cupcake and decided to brave one more bite. He still didn’t like it.

 “Man, why didn’t they get a babysitter?” José would’ve never left _his_ daughter alone in the house for ten minutes when she was little. With kids you gotta be so careful, basically anything can happen when you don’t keep an eye on them and they’re so fragile.

 “I know, right”, Kyle seconded and leaned forwards again. He looked like the type of guy who was good with kids. He had a nice smile and a calming aura. He would’ve gotten along great with José. “Anyway, now you got my name, want my number?”

Crap, Al had hoped he would have given up when Al had showed no reaction to the last flirt. Time to bite the bullet. Well, at least Vanya should be out of the office in a few minutes.

 “Sorry, I’m already taken. My boyfriend should be here any time now.”

Kyle groaned and leaned backwards again to put some distance between himself and Al.

 “Just my luck, the one time I meet a gay guy in the wild he’s already taken. He treat you right?”

 “You bet! He’s a cop!”

 “I dated a cop once”, Kyle frowned, contemplated the cupcake in his hand, and then decisively set it to the side. “Broke it off ‘cause he was always too busy. Word of advice – sometimes those can’t-turn-off-types are based on reality.”

 “Mine’s not like that”, Al assured. In fact, Vanya could use some of that TV drive. When he wasn’t stressed out of his mind, he was so nonchalant about everything you’d think he worked at a grocery store. “He always makes time for me, then complains about it. He’s so cute.”

 “He sounds high-maintenance.”

 “Yeah, definitely”, Al laughed, because the only ones more high-maintenance than Vanya were teenage, bleach-blonde basic bitches. “I don’t mind it. He deserves more than the world could ever give him.”

 “You got it bad, pal!” Kyle laughed awkwardly, probably wanting to change the subject, but Al couldn’t stop himself anymore.

 “Yeah, I really do. I thought I had been in love before, but with him it’s this whole different thing, it’s _amazing_! It’s so stereotypical but I really just wanna be with him every second of the day and I think about him _all_ the time!”

 “Okay, I get it.”

 “Sorry, couldn’t help myself, he’s just so great! Oh, and speak of the devil, there he comes!”

Vanya had just stepped in. He smiled warmly at Al, but then noticed Kyle taking up the other seat and his face took on a puzzled look. Kyle, on the other hand, looked startled. Since it looked like neither of the men would start introductions, Al had to step in.

 “Ivan, meet Kyle. He’s a paramedic.”

Vanya summoned a friendly smile to his face, but his voice was strained and even higher than usual. What was that about? Did he recognize Kyle from something? Was he a suspect in something?

 “Hello. Fredya never mentioned you before”, Vanya chirped, and the look on Kyle’s face was absolutely flabbergasted. Yeah, Al could get that, he’d been pretty weirded out by Vanya’s voice at first, too.

 “Yeah, we just met, a few minutes before you came in.”

Al was pretty sure Vanya was using his detective senses to determine if Kyle was lying, and was satisfied when he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t. Al got up to borrow an empty seat from Kyle’s former table to let Vanya sit down.

 “We technically met about two months earlier, but didn’t speak to each other”, Kyle clarified.

 “Two months? That’s right before we started dating, right?”, Al asked, counting back. September 5th, their first meeting – Al remembered because he had been on the prowl for booty after Gema’s birthday, and gotten lost on his way to the gay bar. Now it was October 23rd – one month and three weeks. Yeah, it checked out. “Imagine if Kyle had given me his number that time!” Al said to Vanya. “We probably would’ve never even met. Wow, Sliding doors, much?”

Vanya smiled sweetly at Kyle, who shrunk back in his chair, embarrassed because he had hit on someone else’s boyfriend.

 “Imagine that”, Vanya chuckled cheerfully. “Did you get his number this time?”

Oh no, was Vanya _jealous_? That was too cute! His fears were of course completely unfounded, but it was the sentiment that counted!

 “No worries babe, I’m a one man guy! You’ll have to pry me off with a crowbar!”

Vanya scoffed and crossed his arms. Al recognized the gesture as the beginning of an insult game.

 “I find it far more likely that I will have to start falsely imprisoning anyone who approaches you. Maybe utilize some police brutality.”

Al burst out laughing, but then noticed Kyle staring at them in pure horror, and remembered that to outsiders, their jokes could sound pretty disturbing.

 “Jesus Christ, babe, let the poor man get used to your sense of humor before bringing out the big guns!”

 “I apologize”, Vanya said, clearly to only Al. He tutted, and with great resentment Vanya then repeated the statement to Kyle. He accepted it with a quiver in his voice, so Vanya smiled at him some more to show that he honestly hadn’t been serious about arresting him.

 “It was nice to meet you, mister Kyle, but me and Fredya need to get going”, Vanya chirped, his voice still unusually high, and walked out the door without even waiting for Al.

 “I can’t tell if he’s cute or terrifying”, Kyle whispered, like he feared Vanya would hear him all the way to the street. Al gulped down the last of his coffee to run after the jealous cutie pie.

 “He’s kinda both. But don’t dwell on it too much ‘cuz he’s _mine_ ”, Al whispered back before running after Vanya. He hadn’t walked fast, he had probably just been flustered in Kyle’s company and needed to get out, not actually angry. Al slipped his hand into Vanya’s and leaned into his arm.

 “I can’t even begin to tell how glad I am that I met you”, Al said softly. Vanya lowered his face into his scarf and mumbled something.

 “You’re being adorable, but I can’t hear you from under all that yarn.”

 “Mister Kyle was very good-looking”, Vanya mumbled, still badly muffled by the scarf.

 “Oh, tell me about it! _Dreamy_!” Al swooned. He never knew they had similar taste in men. They should start checking out actors together! Joe Manganiello, Channing Tatum, Michael B. Jordan…

 “And he seemed to be very outgoing.”

 “Yeah, he thought he recognized me and came over to talk. You’d just sit there and wonder about it by yourself.”

 “I am not good with people, I _know_ ”, Vanya replied, sounding hurt. Al never knew Vanya saw it as a flaw, since he had never shown much interest in Al’s friends – he came across as a proud loner. It was difficult for Al to understand how someone wouldn’t be interested in people, but maybe that was part of why he was so drawn to Vanya – opposites and all that. And it _did_ make date nights easier to arrange, since the only obstacle was Al’s social life.

 “Oh honey, I wouldn’t trade you for a hundred Kyles! You’re the only one for me, babe.”

 “Mister Kyle might not see it that way.”

 “He totally does, he backed away immediately when I said I have a boyfriend! The most wonderful boyfriend in the world, I might add.”

Vanya blushed at the sappy statement and squeezed Al’s hand.

 “I still don’t like him. I might find his address.”

 “Come on babe, don’t go overboard.”

Vanya didn’t answer, just hid his face further in his scarf. Al kept up one-sided conversation until they got the theater, where he finally got fed up with the silent treatment.

 “Are you gonna sulk the whole day? ‘Cause if you are, I might go back to Kyle.” It was a childish and unfair threat, but it did spur Vanya into action – he kissed Al on the mouth, with _tongue_. Vanya hated kissing in public. He accepted the odd peck on the cheek every now and then, but never liked it, never allowed anything more, never initiated. And he had just _frenchied_ Al in the center of a movie theater lobby, in plain view of over a dozen people.

 “I would sooner kill him than let that happen”, he growled possessively, his eyes narrowing and gleaming with a dangerous light. Al could only breathe out a dazed _okay_.

 

-_-_-_-_-

 

Vanya had paid roughly zero attention to the movie, and even been distracted when they got to his place. Al got the feeling it was because of Kyle – Vanya often got a brief, enraged sneer on his face, and he’d clench his fists, then take a deep breath and try to concentrate on Al again. Al didn’t bring Kyle up, because he wanted Vanya to forget all about him since he wasn’t a factor in anything. The jealousy had been cute in the moment, but it got a little weird when it went on for so long. Thankfully Vanya seemed to be fine the next morning, save for one short bout of anger at his malfunctioning coffeemaker. They both had tea that morning, and Al couldn’t say he liked it any more than he had liked it a good ten years ago, when he tried it for Artie’s sake. Even his crush on his second cousin hadn’t been enough to make him down it all.

 “I don’t get how you tea-people can drink this thing every day”, Al whined.

 “It is a matter of getting used to it. No one likes their first cup of coffee, either.”

 “I think Artie came out of the womb drinking tea…” Al muttered, glumly staring at his full cup. “Can I please throw this in the sink?”

 “Of course. I won’t force you into anything you don’t like.”

 “Thanks, honey.”

They watched a couple more movies, snuggling on the couch. Vanya read while Al’s action movies were playing, and Al played with his phone when it was Vanya’s turn to pick an art film. For Al it was comfortable, but something agitated Vanya. He was restless the whole day, he sighed and switched positions every minute, it seemed.

 “Thinking of Dubois again?” Al asked when he got fed up with the fidgeting and sighing.

 “No, not Dubois. I think I just need to get out for a while. Would you like to go to out somewhere? I know you have work tomorrow, but I’ll drive you to and from.”

Al’s jaw made a dent on the floor, so hard it fell. When Vanya was stressed, he holed up inside with no reminders of outside life! Him wanting go out was rare on a good day, when he was irritated it was an anomaly of the highest caliber!

 “We could go for just one beer, if you really want to.” And get you just drunk enough to make you finally _talk_.

 “You can pick the place.”

Al picked the closest bar to his place, but unfortunately wasn’t able to find out what was pressing on Ivan’s mind, and left for work on Sunday none the wiser. He managed to forget all about it come Monday, though, and since they didn’t see face to face for a couple more days, he wasn’t reminded of it, either.

 

~¨:.:¨~

 

Ivan found it impossible to stay distant with Fredya these days. It was an odd feeling for him, he could even keep the necessary distance with his sisters, even in times when he wanted nothing more than to confide in them and unload some of the weight he carried on his shoulders. But unlike his sisters, the American kept pushing in despite being repeatedly rebuffed, and at some point it had stopped being unpleasant. It seemed he was not planning on moving to the next boy toy in the near future, and although Ivan knew it was still only a matter of time, he no longer spent all his time reminding himself of it. He had almost accepted that Fredya found him truly likable, and he didn’t mind providing entertainment for the childish man while they lasted. Jealousy had never been a problem with him before, but from the moment Fredya forced his way in when Ivan was at his most pathetic, his possessiveness had roused from its sleep reared its head eagerly. Ivan and Nataliya shared blood, after all - sometimes he wondered if she kept as many secrets as he did. However, he never imagined he would experience a jealousy as strong as she always did when her brother was in question. All his life, Ivan had assumed his case of obsessiveness much milder than hers, but then along came _mister Kyle_ from the coffee shop. Ivan had thoroughly enjoyed scaring him, and it hadn’t been until Fredya had made him apologize to the man that he fully realized _why_. Then his jealousy had reached its peak, and he had to get out before he acted on his desire to grill the snake’s flesh and feed it to poodles. He had fantasized at length about strangling the slut with his bare hands. He suddenly understood his younger sister so much better, why she had so much trouble restraining herself, how she could hate a person so passionately when the single thing she knew about them was that they had an interest in her brother. He wondered if she had as much trouble concentrating on work as he had right then, when she knew Ivan was with someone. Was Katyushka also hiding a darkness inside her? She was the oldest, and would have the most experience. Maybe that was why she came across as perfectly stable, while her younger siblings struggled with appearances. She was already so good at hiding her trauma, no one could know if she was hiding something else. Maybe if _she_ had been the –

No, no, Ivan was not going to think about _that_ today. Today he was thinking about mister Kyle from the coffee shop. He was thinking about how he would screw around all willy-nilly without caring a single second about who he hurt in the process, who he abandoned to fend for her-

Oh, no, not today, brain. Ivan really didn’t need this today. He didn’t need it any other day, either, but today he had no escape. His work couldn’t hold his interest, the chief was already hinting about _consequences_ if no progress was made _very_ soon, Tasha was getting increasingly suspicious of Ivan’s after work activities, Katyushka was getting burn-out for working too much and needed her brother for support, Amanda was looking at him with an annoyed look on her face, Toris couldn’t find the right words to direct her attention elsewhere, Ivan needed a distraction right now-

_Wyd_

Thank the heavens, Fredya could always be counted on. Fredya, Ivan could concentrate on him for now, Amanda’s passive-aggressive looks and mutterings be damned. Wyd. Fredya and his text speak. Adults should really use proper grammar when communicating, all the _ur_ s and _lol_ s made him sound like a teenager. Which he was, at least mentally. It was borderline ephebophilia, what Ivan and Fredya had.

 _Looking through old statements to find clues_ , Ivan replied. That was currently the best use of his unit’s time. There was nothing else to keep them busy. All physical evidence from Dubois had been examined so thoroughly there was no point in taking more looks at them, and since there were again zero eyewitness testimonies, their best option was to look at all the families’ and friends’ statements, to try and find something they had overlooked earlier. Connections and similarities to past victims, the like. Of course there was nothing in them, either, but better that than sitting around doing nothing. This was their only case at the moment.

_Cool_

_Wanna cometo my pacle ltr_

Oh, did he ever, he wanted to go right this instant.

_I got wintr solder_

Superhero movies were the surest way to make Ivan want to go straight home. What Alfred found so appealing about them was beyond him – they didn’t provoke deep thought, none of the characters ever acted like real human beings, and the superpowers never worked in a consistent way. Ivan considered them just barely above children’s cartoons, if only because the voices and sound scape were usually less grating. Maybe he was just getting old, or maybe children’s entertainment really had become louder and squeakier over the years. He remembered loving Cheburashka and Lolo and all those other 80’s and 90’s kids’ movies.

Come to think of it, maybe it was just an American thing. He had just grown out of cartoons before  - before _that_. He had never seen American cartoons when he was young. Think of –  _Tasha_ – Tasha had been young enough, she had still liked them, she had been so young, _oh god_ she had been so _young_ , think of _something else_ , now, _concentrate_!

 “I’m going to get us coffee”, Ivan announced and jumped up from his chair to half-run out of the room. He heard Toris’ and Amanda’s papers shuffle, having been startled by the sudden burst. Ivan didn’t stick around to hear what they started whispering amongst themselves – they both already despised and feared him enough, if he overheard their hateful words Ivan wouldn’t be able to contain himself, he needed to keep his distance, but he couldn’t stop himself from getting attached to these good people, was it because he hoped osmosis would work its magic and make everything alright and wipe out the past?

Al messaged him again, wanting an answer, and Ivan took the opportunity to think of _anything_ else for even a second, and set out to write the most elaborate, eloquent and evocative answer to occupy his thoughts for as many seconds as possible.

  _May I come straight from work?,_ was the pathetic end result, because Ivan’s brain was knotting itself so badly that English barely came to him at all.

_Sure_

_Wanna make dinner 2geter_

Kindness begets kindness, but Ivan didn’t want to be kind to Fredya just to be shown kindness in return – yes, that was the thought he should concentrate on for now. He would prefer it if he could just keep pouring gifts and services on Fredya without being paid back. He might not have had much to give, but as long as Fredya was willing to receive, Ivan wanted to surrender his all. He used to not understand the type of all-sacrificing romantic love fiction always idolized, but then Fredya ran headfirst into his life and all of a sudden nothing Ivan could ever give was good enough.

_I will take care of it since you do not like cooking. I will stop by the grocery store on the way_

Ivan was fairly confident in his skills in the kitchen, and Fredya seemed to like his cooking well enough. He just wasn’t used to not eating things that weren’t half grease and half sugar. Maybe Ivan should try something more traditionally American this time. He tended to cook what he was more familiar with, and since his family had had little contact with American culture even after –

Oh. This was one of those days. Every thought would eventually lead to Novokuybyshevsk. Some days it was simply inevitable, and those were the days Ivan could never hold himself back. But now there was Fredya, he might be able to quell some of the thirst – Ivan would go to him, right after stopping at the grocery store and making a detour at his liquor stash.

Ivan returned to the office with a rehearsed smile and arms full of coffee. He only needed to last four more hours. Surely he could manage only four hours. He had lasted for 19 years, four hours was a drop in the ocean, if even that, four hours was nothing. Four hours…

 

-_-_-_-_-

 

After taking a few swigs, Ivan felt good enough to head to Fredya’s. His law-abiding side demanded he take the bus, but that would have raised too many questions. The ride was short, anyway, and this would hardly be his worst violation of the law. The world would survive this minor violation.

Ivan took deep breath and practiced his carefree smile for several minutes in the car. He hoped Fredya hadn’t seen him pull up to the sidewalk, because he would have _questions_. Ivan was fairly good at coming up with excuses at a second’s notice, but he didn’t want Fredya to have the slightest idea that something was out of the ordinary. It was enough that Ivan’s sisters endlessly worried about him, when he was the one supposed to be taking care of them.

Luckily the smile fooled Fredya, or then it was the grocery bag.

 “So what kind of culinary masterpiece are we making today?” Fredya queried, wrapping his arms around Ivan’s waist. Fredya was the type of person who always needed his hands on a body part. Ivan had grown to tolerate it, sometimes even like it, since Fredya at least felt pleasant. He was sturdy, he wouldn’t fall over or be crushed under heavy weight. Although Fredya preferred lying on top of Ivan whenever they watched movies on the sofa, switching positions was never a problem.

 “Clam chowder.”

 “Cool! Tried it once, tasted pretty funky.”

 “This will be my first time cooking it, I hope I can get it right.”

 “Babe, basically anything you make is heavenly.”

Ivan couldn’t even begin to explain how not true that was, but he just smiled. If he pretended everything was alright, then maybe it could be. So he grinned and bore it, and for a little while he _did_ forget about it. But then Fredya pointed out how hot Channing Tatum was in Magic Mike, and the memory if _mister Kyle_ came back in full swing. He tried to seethe in silence, but Fredya noticed and quickly started talking about something completely inconsequential. But the damage had already been done – the murder fantasy came back even more elaborate than before. Ivan needed to do something.

Al didn’t even protest about being pushed off. Ivan could imagine the aura he radiated right then, if even Al could sense it and commented nothing on it. He was incredibly relieved, however, to see that his face betrayed not a trace of fear, but was rather one of exasperation.

 “I’m not angry with you”, Ivan explained, because the last thing he wanted was to make Fredya think he was at fault for anything.

 “So it’s gotta be Kyle. Why’re you so hung up on some random dude? Sure, he was kinda hot, but it’s not like I’m ever gonna see him again! It was just a chance meeting.”

 “I know that, I just – It isn’t – I don’t know how to explain it. Please, I need some time alone.”

Fredya groaned and started mumbling something about being blueballed.

 “I’m sorry”, Ivan offered meekly.

 “No, it’s fine. Go deal with it and let me know when you’re done.”

 “I will call you tomorrow.”

 “’Kay. Love you.”

The words were said light-heartedly, but they weighed heavier than lead on Ivan’s mind. He could not shake them out of his head, much like he could not shake Fredya’s disappointment at not hearing the words back. Ivan simply escaped, without a single word more.

 

-_-_-_-_-

 

As Ivan had promised, he had called Fredya the next day. He had explained nothing, and Fredya had not asked. He had only suggested a date on Saturday night, and Ivan had agreed even though Tasha had also asked to see him that day. He did not dare keep Fredya waiting. That meant he had had to act on Saturday afternoon. It was too bad that Ivan came late for Tasha’s dinner, especially since this was the first time in two months that Katyushka could make it.

“You’re here later than usual”, Gil said. “Did you have work?”

 “No, just something to take care of.”

Ivan very much appreciated that Gil understood privacy, and didn’t ask follow-up questions whenever Ivan didn’t provide an explanation himself.

 “Hope it went well”, she smiled and handed him a piece of bread. She then turned to Katyushka, who had done her best not to look terrifyingly tired. “Both of you take your jobs very seriously.”

 “Oh, I’m just a waitress. Ivan’s the one with an important job”, Katyushka explained.

 “Don’t say that, it sounds so sad.”

 “You really should find a new job”, Tasha said. “You’re working yourself to death. Put that hortonomy degree into some use.”

 “There never seems to be a good time”, Katyushka sighed. “Both my restaurants are getting more clients and they need the extra staff. I can’t just leave them in trouble.”

 “They can always hire someone else”, Gil reminded. “But what is hortonomy?”

Katyushka’s tired face lit up and she started explaining. She had always loved flowers, but her true passion was agriculture. For the longest time, she had dreamed of leaving the city and becoming an independent farmer, but never had the money - she wasn’t eligible for loans because her income was so low and her monthly earnings fluctuated so much. Tasha and Ivan wanted to support her dream, but knew it just wasn’t a possibility. They had suggested and pushed her into becoming a gardener or an advisor for a company, but her interviews always went badly because she was so meek. It was starting to look like she might be a waitress for life. Ivan would of course support her as best he could, but he didn’t want her to be dependent on him – what would happen to her once he was no longer around?

 “You really know much about plants”, Gil commented, thoroughly impressed. “So smart.”

 “Oh, I’m not, really, I just know some things about farming”, Katyushka denied, as she always did. If only humility paid the bills, she would be set for life.

 “I will find you a book about farmers, some day. Did you like the one I recommended last time?”

 “Very much! It’s nice that we have similar tastes, we should make a list of our favorite books!”

 “Great idea! Or we could start a book club, just for us two! I like talking about books but I don’t have many friends. And Natasha doesn’t read much.”

“I do read, just not fiction.”

Tasha was the least literature-oriented member of the family. She did still read, but her tastes were very specific. She did not waste her time on books that she could not enjoy whole-heartedly. Most of her reading was done online, and a majority of it was non-fiction. Psychology was her most prominent interest, but she also enjoyed the most inconsequential of trivia. She knew a little about most everything, and surprisingly much about celebrities, even if she claimed not to be interested in celebrity gossip. She was the sole reason Ivan and Katyushka knew the both the name of Paris Hilton’s dog, and that rusalki were originally linked with fertility.

Katyushka went home to sleep as soon as she finished her dinner, while Gil and Ivan stayed to help Tasha with the dishes. Or, at least Gil tried to. Tasha drove her out so she couldn’t interfere with her Ivan-time. She _had_ been oddly calm during the dinner, Katyushka must have the been barrier she needed between Ivan and Gil to feel unthreatened. When Gil’s attention was divided between so many people, Tasha didn’t feel Ivan was in as much danger of being stolen. Ivan wondered if he would soon start feeling the same with Fredya – he was already dangerously close. He didn’t want to become as stifling as Tasha, but some urges can be near impossible to resist. Although, the difference there was that Fredya would never let himself be imprisoned the way Ivan did.

 “It was nice that Katyushka could make the time to come see us”, Ivan said.

 “Yes. It’s been a very long time since all three of us were at the same table, brother.”

Tasha let her hand linger on Ivan’s just a tad too long when she handed him the washed plate. He felt his skin crawl – her voice had that dangerous, dark quality to it that indicated a bad episode. He had to consider his each and every word incredibly carefully, so she couldn’t infer anything unintended from them.

 “A _family_ really should spend more time together.”

 “I agree. Family must stay close.”

 “But it isn’t good to neglect one’s friends, either. When was the last time you spent time with someone other than family or Gil?”

 “Friends are a waste of time. And why does it always come back to _her_? Why do you want me to be friends with _her_ so badly?”

 “Dear sister, I don’t mean to insult you, but you _can_ be a tad difficult to get used to. Gil doesn’t mind you, and she lives right next door. It wouldn’t be hard to make time to hang out with her. Just the two of you.”

 “I make enough time to hang out with her”, Tasha grumbled, her hands squeezing the sponge much too hard. “What I want is to make more time to hang out with _you_.”

 “I know, sister. Work is just very busy. But you know family always comes first for me.”

 “I wonder”, she mumbled under her breath. She handed him the last dish, he rinsed it and put it in the cupboard. In the silence, he could hear her strained breath. He also noticed she had knotted her fingers together, to stop herself from touching anything. He wasn’t sure if she was on the verge of throwing something, or hitting someone, or tying someone up and forging their signature on a marriage license.

As much as Ivan appreciated her attempts, he knew he had to get out before she lost control. Far be it from him to _dislike_ his sister’s company, but every now and then her love skipped the line between reassuring and concerning, and rocketed straight ahead and even _past_ unsettling.

 “Oh dear, would you look at the time? I have to go”, Ivan informed his strictly _platonically_ beloved sister. Her cold blue eyes did their best to imitate sad puppies, but her features were not made for such expressions, and she ended up resembling those staring ghost women Japanese horror movies often starred.

 “Why? Stay with me, brother.”

 “I’m meeting someone”, Ivan explained, much too nervously, sealing his fate. Nataliya’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

 “Is it a date?” she asked so coldly Ivan swore he could feel the temperature of the room _physically_ drop. Amazing how an innocent, pleasant word like _date_ could sound so much like _apocalypse_ when heard from her mouth. His little sister was truly a force to reckon – an awe-inspiring, terrifying, ground-shaking force.

 “N-no! Of _course_ not! Why would you think that?” Ivan stammered, trying to laugh like she was being entirely silly. Her brother, going on a _date_! What and _absurd_ thought, one might even say _abstract_ , so impossible and laughable it was! Ha ha!

She didn’t buy it.

 “With that – that _American devilspawn_?”

Ivan briefly contemplated lying to her face, but he came to the conclusion lying to her would be even _more_ terrifying and hurt much, _much_ more than telling the truth.

 “Yes, with Alfred”, he admitted, without being able to contain the terrified tremble out of his voice.

 “ _Alfred_?!”

 _Why in the name of god_ had he used Fredya’s first name?! Jones would have implied distance and kept her relatively calm!

 “I promise you, he’s nothing serious! He would never be a priority like you and Katyushka are!”

 “ _He’s_ the reason you haven’t visited lately, isn’t he! How _could_ you! I’ve loved you _all my life_ and he just waltzes in drunk some night wanting a fuck and all of a sudden _he’s_ all you can think about!”

 “It isn’t like that, Natasha, I promise!”

 “Fuck you and your promises! You _promised_ you’d never abandon us and look what you’re doing right now!”

 “I’m not abandoning you, Tashenka, my darling little sister, I could never abandon you! Of course I love you, just like I love Katyushka more than anything in the world! He’s just a distraction –“

 “A distraction from _me_ , are you going to say?”

 “Never! You and Katyushka are the only thing in the world that matter to me.”

 “That’s a little hard to believe when you run after every ass that comes your way.”

 “That’s harsh. And a lie. You know that.”

Natasha started pouting, which was at least better than screaming or crying. Ivan sighed deep, trying to figure out how to explain to her without putting Fredya in danger.

 “Look, sister. Alfred is only an addition. He isn’t taking away anything yours.”

 “Then you won’t have a problem with me tagging along, _right_?”

 “On the contrary. I love you, sister, but not in that way. You and Alfred need to stay separated.”

 “I’m still coming. That asshole won’t steal you from me.”

 “Nataliya. Do not follow me.”

The words were an order. Ivan very rarely used orders on his little sister. She understood their weight – he always did his best to accommodate her, to please her, and only four times before had he denied her anything. She stewed in anger as he walked out, but did not follow.

Perhaps one day she would understand. Perhaps she would come across her own Fredya. A Fredya who would welcome her with a joyous smile and a loving kiss.

 “Did you have fun at Nattie’s?”

 “It was nice to see Katyusha after so long”, Ivan smiled innocently, purposely keeping quiet about Natasha. “I hope you didn’t wait for too long.”

 “Nah, man, you’re right on time. Let’s go in.”

The interior was not much to talk about. The name of the bar evoked a sense of a medieval tavern, but the Stone Jug looked like any other neighborhood bar. Sports on the TV, some tables and chairs, men of various ages downing beers, a bored bartender. Ivan let Fredya order for him, after making him vow he would not order a beer. In hindsight, that had been dangerous – when instructed to do one thing, Fredya was the type to do another just to annoy. But that evening he was in a generous mood, and followed Ivan’s wishes.

Just as soon as Fredya sat down and began his customary monologue, Ivan noticed a young woman dressed in a blue dress spying on them.

Nataliya _had_ followed him! He thought she had grown out of the stalking habit a decade ago, but there she undeniably was, skulking under one of the tables in the corner, glaring at Alfred like she was trying to explode his skull with sheer force of will. And with her, it was only a matter of time when she _did_ find a way to do it.

She was also quicker than a greased lightning, practically jump-cutting from view the instant Fredya began turning around to look what had made Ivan blanch.

 “What is it?” he asked confused, seeing only the expected wall and tables.

 “Nothing!” Ivan hurriedly claimed, chirping so cheerfully he was afraid even Fredya would catch on. After all, even the blindest of hens can sometimes find a grain of corn when it’s the size of a house. He needed a good excuse for this, or even a bad one would do, just say _something_ before Fredya noticed something is more wrong than he thought -

 “I just… saw… a… I felt like I was going to sneeze but it passed.”

The hen was not fooled by the paper mache corn.

 “Musta been some sneeze”, Fredya commented while cocking one wonderfully expressive eyebrow in an arch that told more than a hundred words.

 “Yes!”

Shit! Fredya was _not_ allowed to find out Ivan’s psychotic little sister liked stabbing anyone she saw as a minor obstacle to her lifelong dream of marrying her brother! _Where had she gone?_ Was she still inside? Was she going home?  Please, any and every deity on duty, _please_ make her go home!

Realizing sweet and innocent Fredya was still expecting an actual explanation, Ivan tried to distract him with something, but with such a short warning could only work with what he had in sight.

 “It must have been the drink. Here, why don’t you take it?”

Fredya’s jaw dropped open. What? Was it really _that_ weird for Ivan to refuse alcohol?

Oh, what was he thinking, _is_ _water wet and does shit smell?_

 “Are you okay?” Fredya asked incredulously, slowly getting angry for being so blatantly lied to.

 “Who, me? Of course!” Ivan laughed nervously. Seriously, _where had she gone?_ “I have to go the toilet!”

He ran full speed in the direction his lunatic sister had disappeared to, which was the opposite of where the toilets were. He’d come up with a believable excuse later, when their lives weren’t in danger. He couldn’t see her _anywhere_ , the place was much too dangerous at the moment to sacrifice time for fabricating stories. Nataliya was a slick little thing, she could slip in through almost any crack when she felt the need to. Even knowing it to be in vain, Ivan checked under all the tables, too panicked to care about the puzzled looks thrown his way from all over the bar.

Okay, if she was not in here, she was not in a talking mood.

Which meant she was in a _stabbing mood!_

Ivan sprinted back to Fredya, and he was about to faint from relief to see him still unharmed, even unaccompanied, and had no idea how narrowly he had just avoided agonizing death.

 “What the hell?” he demanded, his anger the sweetest nectar because it meant he didn’t have the faintest clue of what was going on.

 “Nothing!” Ivan chirped again, keeping up the useless act, but it was better than the alternative. “How was your day?” Fredya needed to be under constant surveillance tonight. Preferably the rest of his life, but one can’t make promises like that.

 “Well, Jack was cranky again since Stu wouldn’t shut up about his upcoming baby, but I know you’re not interested in that”, the blissfully ignorant man whined, halfway to being misdirected. Good, just keep at it, he loved blabbering about his coworkers, keep him busy gossiping and he won’t have the time to wonder about anyone’s peculiar antics!

 “Yes, I’m not invested in the lives of your coworkers. Have you talked about me to them?” Ivan asked distractedly, glancing over his shoulder.

 “Yeah! They’re something blah blah blah blah Ivan are you blah blah _hey_!”

 “Hmm?”

 “I’m serious, what is _with_ you tonight?”

 “Nothing! Everything is completely normal!”

 “You haven’t taken a _drop_ of your vodka.”

 “Well, I… have work tomorrow. Wouldn’t do to turn up hung over!”

Ack! _There_ she was! Slinking out of view near the front door! Thank goodness she at least hadn’t found anything sharp yet!

 “How is Stu’s baby?” Ivan asked panicked. Nataliya sneaked outside. This was his chance! “Give it my regards, I have to go! Bye!”

And Ivan sprinted after his insane little sister. This time she did not try to hide, she confronted him fair and square, her eyes flaming with rage and jealousy. She expected him to cower before her, apologize and agree to never see Fredya again. That was how it had gone with everyone who had come before him. Her bewilderment far outshone her fury when instead Ivan answered her gaze coldly.

 “Nataliya Grigorova Arlovskaya. You are 28 years old. Don’t you think it’s time to grow up and get over this childish joke? Yes, it was cute when you were _five_. It is nothing short of creepy when you’re past the age of seven.”

That made her offended on top of being baffled and furious. She struggled to find the appropriate words and tone for her answer.

 “Brother, I was never joking”, she finally said very firmly, but also patiently, as if teaching a young child. “I love you like a wife loves her husband.”

Her wires may have been crossed from the beginning, but Ivan could not deny his part in soldering them permanently so. Being nice and understanding had done nothing to help her, letting her have her way had only made it worse, the only thing left to try was blunt honesty. And Ivan had do it right then, because five minutes later he would not have the courage.

 “No, you don’t. What you feel is some twisted kind of familial love. Listen well, _sister_ , as I will only say this once: stay away from Alfred. Whatever you do to hurt him, I will do to you. Even if it means killing you.”

Nataliya knew he would do it. What little color her cheeks had gained in the cold drained away, and her pupils dilated until the icy blue of her irises was but the thinnest sliver of unrecognizable color. Her resemblance to their mother was much less apparent than Katyusha’s, but at that moment she looked eerily similar to Hristina Braginskaya’s last moments.

Ivan did not stop her from running away. He did not go back inside the Stone Jug. He did not let Alfred know what had transpired outside. He went home, and fell into bed hoping he would be punished harder than Judas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh daaaaaaamn we found out that Nataliya doesn’t share her siblings' family name!!! I wonder what _that’s_ all about!!! I can’t wait to reveal more about their family history… And on that note, I chose Novokuybyshevsk as the Braginskis’ hometown because of its super complicated and extremely Russian name, and then could never write it. I always copied and pasted itXD And I let Natasha show a tiny bit of that potty mouth she has according to the wiki. It felt so weird to write profanity out of her mouth that I still couldn’t make her swear a lot.  
>  Russian spellings of English words are the _cutest!!!_ They write them phonetically, so safe becomes seif, cupcake would probably be kapkeik, and once we saw Paul McCartney written as Pol Makartni!!! How adorable is that!! So really, it’s only their endemic words that are impossibly complicated. But even then they’re nothing compared to Polish and Czech…
> 
>  _Borscht(Борщ)_ : beetroot soup, a classic in Slavic kitchen.  
>  _Rusalka(plural rusalki)_ : a Slavic spirit, an undead woman who drowns men.  
>  _Trays letchs_ : My attempt at writing Spanish with an American accent…
> 
> Chapter title comes from Звезды в Лужах by 30.2. The symbolism would work better if the title was Puddles In Stars, since this is the chapter where Al starts seeing the unpleasant sides behind the charm and sweetness, but oh well, I committed to not editing the song titles…


	8. Something So Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [freakyfeline](http://freakyfeline.tumblr.com/) for helping out with this chapter!  
> I decided to place this fic in someplace specific because I noticed my descriptions of the city were highly inconsistent. I originally based the city around my hometown, so the descriptions might not match with Milwaukee, but I don’t care enough to go edit the old chapters. I’m also noticing inconsistencies with the number and dates of BK victims, those I might go edit to make them fit some kind of logic.  
> Anyway, this chapter is a super important one! We get big emotions, big revelations… Alfred gets more and more frustrated with Ivan and confesses to himself there are major flaws in his Russian honey bunny that can’t be fixed, while Ivan feels the exact opposite about Alfred.  
> A pretty porn-y sex scene is marked with asterisks*****, but again it contains important insight to Ivan’s psyche, so I would recommend to at least skim it. Co-written with [irl-usa](http://irl-usa.tumblr.com/), huge thanks! Couldn’t have done it without you bro.

Since their last date had been cut short, Al demanded another one in two days. He would’ve been fine with just hanging around, but Vanya insisted on going out. He picked some not-fancy, not-shitty restaurant, because fancy places had waiting lists weeks long, but he still wanted Al to dress up a little, despite knowing how much Al hated wearing suits. And the only suit he now had on hand was a really old one and didn’t really fit him anymore, so he was constantly about to rip a seam.

 “We look _so_ out of place in here”, Al complained quietly, loosening his tie a little more. While he loved being suffocated by Vanya, he wasn’t into inanimate pieces of cloth doing it.

 “We look great”, Vanya claimed. “Pretend that we’re on a semi-casual business lunch and it’ll feel natural.”

 “Why, that would mean that flirting is out of the question and I don’t want that.”

 “You can survive a few hours without flirting and holding hands.”

 “You want us to stay here for _hours_?!”

Vanya only smiled impishly.

 “I thought this was supposed to be _compensation_ for the other night, not punishment”, Al grumbled, and Vanya only smirked harder. He could be _such_ an ass when he wanted to.

 “Who knows, this might just be prelude to compensation. Now pick what you want already, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Al grumbled, but not as much as he wanted to. Vanya looked so pleased that Al didn’t have the heart to truly protest, as much as he hated the stuffy suit and choking tie. An unpleasant hot wave crashed over Al, like he was some lady going through menopause. He suddenly felt sympathy for those ladies, they got the hot flashes even without wearing tight suits.

The night only got better and better when the waiter showed up to give them the menus. He took one look at Vanya and it was like he just spotted diarrhea on the kitchen counter. He didn’t even bother greeting them, just dropped off the menus on the table and marched off all huffy.

 “Remind me to never eat at this place again”, Al commented. “He ever heard of customer service?”

Vanya was distracted by some thought he didn’t bother voicing. He’d been acting kinda weird since he came to pick Al up. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it,  maybe Vanya’s accent was just thicker today? Hadn’t he known any better, he would’ve said Vanya was tipsy, since he was more relaxed than usual. Maybe he’d just had a good day at work, some kind of breakthrough in the case. Al rolled his eyes at the distracted silence and went through the menu. There was nothing special in there, just the usual pastas and porks every place had.

 “Hey Vanya, what’re you having?”

 “Sorry?”

 “I figured since you’re not looking at the menu you already know what you’re having.”

 “Oh, right.”

Yeah, the only times Vanya was this spacey was when he was drunk. Maybe it hadn’t been a good day at work, but two nights with barely any sleep. If Al looked closely, he could see that Vanya’s skin was a bit greyish, and his eyes weren’t nearly as alert as they usually were. The tempest inside had calmed into a strong wind.

Unfortunately his tiredness didn’t stop him from noticing Al fiddling with his tie.

 “Stop messing with your suit, it looks perfect on you.”

 “The hell it does, last time I wore this suit my biceps weren’t half what they are now.”

 “That’s part of what makes it good. You look so uncomfortable.”

 “Oh my God, you asshole.”

Vanya just chuckled at that. Al complained some more about the suit and tie, and the more he complained the more pleased Vanya was. Little demon. Maybe the waiter was a psychic and knew what a dickhead Vanya was. That would explain why he had such a bone to pick with someone he hadn’t even met. And speaking of that asshole waiter, if it had been up to Al they would’ve walked out way before the waiter fucking _finally_ returned to table.

 “What’ll you have?” the waiter snapped, like he was mad that he had customers. Al was about to bark at him but Vanya interrupted him by ordering salmon and wine. Al was _so_ leaving a complaint to the manager before they left. The waiter didn’t even nod as he jotted down Vanya’s order - he was really going all out on this pretend-fine dining, by the way, _wine_ , honestly? - just turned straight to Al with a smile, suddenly filled with desire to please. What the hell was up with him, did he have a bone to pick with foreigners or something? Fucking racist cunt.

 “I dunno, house special or whatever. And a coke.”

 “We recommend lasagna bolognese, would that be fine, sir?” the hypocrite smiled.

 “Yeah, sure.”

 “Alright, I will be out with your meal as soon as possible.”

Al didn’t miss the stink eye the waiter threw at Vanya as he left.

 “What the hell is up with that guy?” Al barked. “I’m leaving a complaint about him. He better not spit in your food.”

Vanya was remarkably calm about the whole thing, he just waved his hand and almost chuckled when he explained the situation.

 “He was related to one of the earlier victims of the Baton killer. I can’t remember which, it’s been a long time. He used to work at a bakery.”

 “What? Then shouldn’t he be grateful? You’re trying to solve that relative’s murder!”

 “Oh, you’re so naive”, Vanya laughed. “ _Malen'kiy podsolnukh_ , people never do what they’re supposed to.”

No, this was _far_ too relaxed for Vanya. All those contractions, spacing out, smiling and laughing without reserve, and finally, the faint but unmistakable smell of alcohol.

 “You _have_ been drinking! It’s only 6 p.m.!”

 “Of course I haven’t, why would you even think that?” Vanya defended, and he was so obviously drunk it wasn’t even funny.

 “You had work this morning, were you drinking on the job?”

 “I wouldn’t do that. I’m just feeling good today”, Vanya denied, without even bothering to make his lie more believable by coming up with some details. Al could only shake his head. Vanya was so fond of denying his problems he wouldn’t admit to drinking even if he was caught mid-swig.

 “I’m confiscating that wine of yours, you’re having water”, Al said decisively, and Vanya sighed in defeat as if to say _you do whatever you believe is right, but I know better_. “I can’t believe you drove us here, you could’ve _killed_ someone!”

 “I told you I am not drunk”, he of course claimed, his speech patterns falling back into place - that ability to instantly sober up was as amazing as ever. Al would’ve said so, too, if he weren’t mad at the drunk driver. “But I see you are determined to see the worst in me, I’m used to it. Think whatever you want to”, Vanya sulked. Because apparently all the lives he had endangered on the way didn’t matter at all.

 “You bet your ass I will”, Al muttered in response. Usually he wasn’t one to filter his thoughts and words, but he didn’t want to make scene right then. But trust him, once they got home the dam would break.

For once Vanya was the one doing most of the talking. He didn’t really have a string to follow, he just babbled whatever came to his mind, happily, like he had forgotten all about Al accusing him of being drunk. It would’ve been nice, but knowing he could only be like this when he wasn’t sober made it hard to enjoy the moment. It did help that their waiter changed, and after a while Al couldn’t see the harm in just making this a nice night out. He could yell at Vanya all he wanted later. They ended up having a great time, despite the ill-fitting suits and mediocre food. Al drove them to his place, and decided to leave yelling at Vanya for tomorrow morning. Why ruin a great date? Vanya was in such a great mood, actually, even _better_ than great - he got all cuddly the second they got inside Al’s apartment. It was such a nice development that Al didn’t dare to comment on it, ‘cause Vanya was totally one of those people who stopped doing whatever was pointed out.

Unless it was drinking, of course.

 “Hey, I just bought the newest X-Men, wanna watch it together?”

 “Couldn’t we watch something _smart_ for once?” Vanya groaned. He was such a _snob_ , entertainment was supposed to be fun, that’s why it was called _entertainment_ , duh.

 “No, ‘cause you need to learn how to _relax_ , man. Turn off that giant brain every once in a while and just enjoy the explosions.”

Vanya didn’t exactly disagree, only groaned again and loosened his tie a little. Al took that as a sign to get the hell out of his own suit jacket and put on Days of Future Past. He’d already seen it in the theaters when it came out, and thought it was great. Magneto was pretty hot, but Al still preferred the Ian McKellen version. Even if the man was old as balls, he was super charismatic. Al wasn’t sure if he’d sleep with the actor, but he’d consider it seriously if given the chance.

Vanya started napping only ten minutes into the movie. Al let him, because he looked so cute curled up in Al’s lap. Besides, Vanya really only let Al pamper him when he was asleep, or when they were having sex. Al loved cuddling and sweet-talking, but Vanya got embarrassed really fast. Even with the sex he claimed it was just roleplaying, to save face. It was so sad that Vanya had to pretend his soft side didn’t exist, because that was the best side of him, if you asked Al. Not that the mysterious and harsh side wasn’t appealing, as well, but in a different way.

Brushing a strand of hair behind Vanya’s ear Al felt his lips tug into a gentle smile. He’d come to the date expecting a wild night, but somehow this was almost as nice. Was he getting old? It used to be he could only call it a fine night when he came home drunk as fuck with a nice piece of ass, and then when Jun-Ho had come along he came to appreciate the occasional sober movie night, and now with Vanya he didn’t even need to get laid in order to have fun. Jeez, soon he’d start cooing over babies and yelling at them gosh-darn whippersnappers.

Magneto had just shot Mystique when an unfamiliar ringtone started playing. Al nudged Vanya awake, who blinked blearily.

 “I’ve never heard your phone ring before”, Al commented. It wasn’t that odd these days since everyone texted, but come to think of it, Al had never heard Vanya’s text tone either.

 “It’s my work phone”, Vanya groaned, then cursed lightly. At least Al assumed so, it was in Russian, but the tone very heavily implied cursing. Al paused the movie while Vanya got the still-ringing phone from his jacket pocket and went to the bedroom to take the call. Al tried to eavesdrop, but Vanya was talking too quietly. It didn’t even take long.

 “I’m sorry but I have to go.”

 “Why, did something come up?” Wow, what a dumb question, of course something had come up if _work_ was calling at 9 p.m. Vanya would be coming to work anyway the next morning, hungover or not.

 “Yes. They found a new body.”

 “Oh shit!”

 “Finish the movie by yourself. It sucks”, Vanya teased. He had a really bad habit of not taking his job with the appropriate amount of empathy. He made a dead person sound like a minor inconvenience at the office.

 “You could try showing a bit of respect!  Someone’s dead!” Al huffed, crossing his arms.

 “Why should I? You said it, they are already dead”, Vanya said, because he was callous asshole who wouldn’t recognize sympathy if it him in the face. “A body does not care about my respect.”

 “That body _used_ to be a living person, you know”, Al explained, fully expecting a sarcastic reply for pointing out something so obvious, but by that point he was ready to spell it out word by word. “What if _I_ died? Would you just go ‘shit happens’ and move on?”

 “I would not, because you are important to me.”

 “Yeah! So you wouldn’t want anyone disrespecting my body, right?”

 “It would only be a body. Don’t stay up waiting, this might take the whole night”, Ivan said flippantly. It was like in his mind they weren’t talking serious ethics at all, just discussing weather. The worst thing about it was that Al was sure Ivan wouldn’t care about _Al’s_ death any more than he did about anyone else’s. He’d just shrug and move on.

Ivan tried to steal a kiss before walking out the door, but Al was mad at him and turned away. Ivan just shrugged and went out without another word. It wasn’t until the door closed that Al remembered Ivan was still a little drunk, and probably not in working condition. If it only affected Vanya, it’d have been fine since you reap what you sow, but he was in charge of a serial murder investigation. Al should probably call his boss to let her know her employee shouldn’t come into work until morning, but of course he didn’t have her number. He couldn’t even remember her full name, because in the papers she was always only referred to as police chief Welder. Ivan hated her, he claimed she was a slavedriver who only cared about saving money instead of increasing public safety, but Al wasn’t so sure. True, she had assigned way too few officers to the BK case, but on the internet he couldn’t find that many negative comments on her. People seemed to mostly like her, or at least not consider her that notable. There were times when Al understood Ivan less than he understood Chinese, was Ivan just one of those people who hated all their bosses, or was there some truth to his complaints? Maybe she had caught him drinking and texting on the clock and he carried a grudge for that. At this point, who could tell anymore? Al tried to finish Days of Future Past by himself, but his thoughts kept revolving around Ivan, so he only ended up pissing himself off when he remembered how horribly disrespectful Ivan could be. He went to bed without even answering the Good night text.

 

~¨:.:¨~

 

Toris only gave Ivan a questioning look, but didn’t ask what the deal with the suit was. For that Ivan was grateful. He had never once worn a suit for work, and knew it looked very odd on him, out of place, and Ivan could only hope he did not look like how he felt when they rang the doorbell and were let in the victim’s house.

 “He got a call from someone in the parish, we don’t know who. Dad just said that a man was contemplating suicide and wanted someone to talk to”, the daughter told. She was remarkably calm for a 14-year-old whose father had been found brutally murdered only hours ago. Ivan could appreciate that, he hated hysterical people. The wife was barely intelligible and completely useless, even when she could produce understandable words she would just wail about how no one could want her husband dead because he was so wonderful, and this was a test of faith that she had not passed, and so on. Very fond of theatrics, clearly, she must have been an especially annoying person to associate with. The way she clinged to her high schooler daughter, and the daughter’s long-suffered expression, told that the mother had been relying on others for everything for a long time. A housewife from a young age, who most likely had her daughter run all the errands because obviously the husband was much too holy to buy toilet paper. Ivan wouldn’t be surprised if the daughter had to dress her mother each morning because she was just _that_ helpless and self-centered.

 “At what time did the call take place?” Ivan asked, his bored tone drawing a conflicted stare from Toris. He wanted to chastise Ivan, but didn’t feel like a lecture on empathy should be given in front of the surviving family.

 “Sometime after twelve, I’m not sure”, the daughter answered, having to raise her voice a little because the mother’s melodramatic sobs were drowning her out. “I didn’t check the time because I didn’t expect anything to happen. Our parish has many unemployed men, it’s not that rare for them to become depressed, so dad talks them out of suicides every other month almost.”

Cue another tearful blubber from the wife. The daughter hugged her mother tightly, and looked embarrassed about the whole situation. At her age the teenage rebellion should be at its height, but she was forced to hush and baby talk to her grown mother every day. It must have eaten her up on the inside. One day, possibly very soon, she would implode.

 “Your father sounds like he was a wonderful man”, Toris said, pointing out the obvious. Patronizing the women would get them nowhere.

 “Yes, yes, we all know that”, Ivan hurried them, earning another look from Toris. “You said you have no knowledge of him having had enemies, but did perhaps someone new join the parish recently?”

 “Oh, I’m not sure… I don’t think so, at least.”

 “Did anyone take unusual interest in your father? Was there someone who would know his schedules?”

 “Dad doesn’t keep much secrets, a lot of people know our address and his phone number. I wouldn’t be surprised if he let everyone know his plans for the day, too.”

 “There is such a thing as sharing too much”, Ivan said, and everyone in the room stared at him in shock. Were they expecting him to cuddle them and say that everything would be alright? He wasn’t a babysitter. “He already shared everything else, the least he could have done was share the name of the caller. Would have made this much easier.”

 “Some people are more private than others”, Toris said placatingly, and Ivan wasn’t sure if it was aimed at him or the women. Every now and then he was so good at remaining neutral that Ivan couldn’t tell if it was natural or calculated.

 “Mister Fowler could have used some privacy”, Ivan stated matter-of-factly, and Toris facepalmed quietly. The wife stared at them both in utter disbelief, even forgetting to force out those embarrassing, choking sobs. Even the daughter seemed to have finally gotten enough, as she threw a short accusatory glare at Ivan. He had had enough of this farce.

 “You can take it from here, I will go have a look at the phone records.”

As Ivan walked out of the house, he heard Toris apologizing for the behavior of his partner through the open window. This was by no means the first time, and everyone in the station knew for a fact it wouldn’t be the last. Ivan was not ignorant of the things being said about himself, he knew he was cruel and narcissistic, that people were pulling every possible string to not be forced into working with him, and he didn’t care. He was who he was, he couldn’t change that anymore.

  _Only find out the vital information, it’s getting late and everyone needs their sleep_ , Ivan wrote to Toris. The man was dutiful to a fault and much too considerate towards other people, if someone didn’t tell him to take a rest, he would comfort the grieving family until dawn and then come to the office to work harder than anyone. He was the kind of cop Fredya wanted Ivan to be. Maybe he could have been, if his reasons for joining the force had been different.

But as it stood, Ivan was more preoccupied with the phone records than reminiscing. On Saturday, mister Jake Fowler had had one incoming call at 12:27am, and the owner of said number was a mister Allan January, a widower in his late fifties. Ivan briefed Amanda about the situation as they drove to the man’s house. Lucky for him, the man was still awake when they knocked on his door. Because Ivan was in the mood for kicking in some doors, protocol and warrants be damned. And it was just his luck that mister January was the very epitome of cooperativeness. One of his sons was a police officer, too, so he was somewhat familiar with protocol. Luckily that son lived in another city, so he didn’t have the pleasure of being acquainted with Ivan. Amanda reminded the man to keep better watch on his belongings, and then they left. There wasn’t much else they could do that night, so they were allowed to go home and rest a little before coming to the office in the morning. Fredya must have fallen asleep while watching that idiotic film about killer robots in the 1970’s since he hadn’t answered Ivan’s text. Ivan considered going to his place to sleep, but decided against it when he realized his irritability would only bother Fredya and maybe start another argument. Fredya had the day off tomorrow, and Ivan should have cooled off by afternoon. He’d make up for the bad date then.

 

-_-_-_-_-

 

Even though it was clear the killer lived in Milwaukee, as six of the confirmed victims had been killed in the city, by morning the whole state was buzzing about the newest victim being found. There was no point in anyone in Green Bay to be scared, but then, humans do love making everything about them, and fret about possible harm being done to them, specifically, even when they lived hundreds of kilometres away from any hazards.

Ivan skimmed several articles at breakfast. It was so early they all had very little information. Ivan hoped the police chief wouldn’t make them hold a press conference, not that there was much reason to expect she would - she wanted to forget about the case, it almost seemed, and she paid it less and less attention as time went by. She was almost angry whenever a new victim showed up and she was once again forced to remember the case.

However, the one who truly hated this case was officer Amanda Casey, who grimaced as soon as she saw Ivan step into the office. She had been much more civil when she was first made to join the task force, but very soon she had made her dislike for Ivan clear. Perhaps a part of it was that she felt intimidated by him - she hated feeling vulnerable. Even though she was more than capable of taking down an average man if need be, she was still 30 centimeters shorter and slight as a twig compared to Ivan. And the physical aspect alone she could have dealt with, but what made her skin crawl was Ivan’s self-serving hostility towards everyone and everything. She was by no means the only person believing Ivan had had a hand in the unfortunate accident that had ended the career of Ivan’s last partner. Amanda knew she could not trust Ivan to bail her out of trouble, however small.

Now, Ivan had never made anyone’s life difficult just because, but he had to admit that in hindsight, there had been a few times when giving a little help would have made the situation easier for both parties. Perhaps he should do a favor to Amanda sometime, just a small one. He could remind her of it if he ever needed a favor back.

 “Am I correct in assuming Hannah kept you awake again?” Ivan said as greeting.

 “Well aren’t you clever”, she said out loud. What she said in her mind was _Just say I look like shit, you arrogant snob_. Ivan settled at his desk, letting her stew in silence. Ivan preferred people who spoke their mind, and he was sure that if Amanda stopped holding herself back, she would flourish. She was restricting herself for no reason.

Toris wobbled in a few minutes later, large take-away coffee in hand and slumped in his chair like a wet rag. Taking in his haggard face and sagging shoulders, Amanda shook her head in defeat.

 “I did tell you to get some sleep”, Ivan said. He had tried to help, it was Toris’ own problem if he couldn’t take advice.

 “I didn’t have the heart to leave when they were so distraught. The daughter started crying after you left.”

 “How much of a dick were you _this_ time”, Amanda muttered, very quietly, and Ivan wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear that or not. It hardly mattered, anyhow, as he heard everything, especially the things no one wanted him to.

 “There is a difference between mean and practical, as I have told you before”, Ivan reminded nonchalantly.

 “What happened with the phone records?” Toris asked before Amanda could shoot back with another passive-aggressive comment.

 “Of course the phone was stolen. I doubt the killer would be careless enough to use his _own_ phone”, she sighed in frustration. “And naturally the owner’s got no clue who stole it. He said that he had it in his bag when he went to work, and it was gone by the time he got home. He could’ve lost it at work or at the store he went to before going home or on the street or wherever. _Wherever_ , because he’s terrible at keeping track of his belongings”, she complained, throwing her head back and grabbing at her hair. “He didn’t even report it lost because he thought he just forgot it laying somewhere in his house.”

 “I hope it was just a lucky coincidence that BK stole it from this man, and didn’t plan it that way because he knew the man’s habits”, Toris said. He knew just as well as everyone that it was no coincidence. BK left nothing to chance, and the only reason mister January wasn’t slashed open and dumped in a ditch somewhere was because he wasn’t a sexy 30-year-old.

 “Yeah. Anyway, what’s the agenda for today?”

 “Interrogating the friends for Casey -” Ivan began, and then police chief Welder marched up behind Toris, face like a dark and stormy night, lightning crackling.

 “Hard at work or hardly working?” she commented sarcastically from behind Toris’ back. Only months ago, Ivan would have suppressed his frustration with the woman and answered politely, but the constant pressure and her less than helpful attitude had worn him down to the bone, so he prepared to spit out some choice words, but unfortunately Amanda beat him to it.

 “We’re doing the best we can with this staff! How the hell are we supposed to make any progress into this with only three people, huh? We get _hundreds_ of hours of security footage to file through every goddamn time another victim turns up and you expect us to do it in ten!” she almost yelled, spurred by the deep resentment she had harbored for her boss since being forced into the BK team, and the lack of sleep due to her dog coming up with a fun game of licking her toes in the middle of the night. Ivan wanted to clap, he was so proud of her for finally speaking her mind clearly.

 “I work with a _budget_ , Casey. This might come as a shock to you, but money does not, in fact, grow on trees!”

 “It’s true that we are overworked -” Toris tried to interject, but the chief silenced him with a pointed finger.

 “I admit that this might have been partly my fault, assigning an inexperienced detective to such a complicated case, but since he assured me he was up to the task, I foolishly let him. I’ve told you a thousand times that I don’t have anyone to spare, so you’re gonna have to find a way to come up with _results_ instead of complaints!”

Police chief Welder had such a way with words. On TV she would have been a popular character, the aggressive and unprofessional police chief who shut down any constructive criticism  by pulling rank was a beloved stereotype. The only thing off here was that police chief Welder marched out of the office of her subordinates, instead of having ordered them to her own and yelling at them there. And of course it was less dramatic for the chief to walk out the office herself instead of angrily dismissing the loose cannon.

 “Jesus Christ, she’s become such a _bitch_!” Amanda complained, but only once she was sure the chief was well out of earshot. Permanent progress, unfortunately, could not happen in one moment. Ivan should encourage her to keep working on her self-confidence.

 “This case is putting a strain on her just as much as everyone else”, Toris justified, because he was the only person in the world incapable of taking anything personally.

 “Well if it’s _so_ fucking stressful for her then why the fuck can’t she reassign more people? You two worked this case alone for a year and I’ve only been here for six months! She’s had two years to fix this shitty fucking task force -”

Ivan stopped listening. When Amanda got started on a tirade, she could not be stopped, even by Toris’ soft, calm, understanding aura. But at least it shielded him from the toxins Amanda spewed out - not even once had Amanda said a hurtful word about Toris, directly or otherwise.

 “I will be in the archives if you need me”, Ivan said calmly, and left the office.

 

~¨:.:¨~

 

In the morning Al woke up from a dream where Vanya fell into a black hole, so at first Al panicked when he didn’t feel a large body pressed to his side. He came to his senses in two seconds, and then felt bad about never answering Vanya’s text. That must’ve been why Vanya thought Al was still pissed at him and had gone to his own apartment instead of returning to Al’s. Al needed to remember that Vanya’s mind wasn’t exactly normal and so he could take things the wrong way, and sometimes he needed simple things explained to him. Al didn’t have much of a way with words, Mattie would have been a much better choice for a teacher, but since Vanya barely listened to a word _Al_ said, the chances of Mattie getting through to him were astronomically small.

_Dun worry babe im not mad_

_But were gonna talk abt dead ppl today_

If only Al knew what to say. He had just about six hours to come up with a foolproof lecture about why a body wasn’t just a body, and why respecting dead folks was required in American culture. Al couldn’t say if it was the case with Russian culture, it could be that a part of Vanya’s disregard came from his cultural background. But he lived in America now, and when in America do as the Americans do. Vanya hadn’t even visited his old country in years, anyway, and he’d never said anything about planning to return. It was time Vanya started learning how to live in another country.

Vanya answered in 30 minutes. The text was much shorter than his usual ones, just a simple _I will come see you after work._ It was either because he was still at work and didn’t want to give his boss any more reasons to breathe down his neck than she already had, or because he was worried about making Al angry again. A fight was probably inevitable, but Al was feeling hopeful. They _had_ survived that vicious screamfest of a fight only a couple weeks into their relationship, surely they would get over a calm argument.

Eh, still, it couldn’t hurt to think up some _real_ good points, preferably ones that wouldn’t imply Vanya was a heartless jackass, even if it _was_ true to some degree. Maybe a jog would help him think. Clearly sitting around inside pigging out on bacon was doing less than nothing to clear his head. Getting emotional with Vanya was the worst way of getting anything through to him, so for once Al needed to be calm and rational one. Yeah, he’d head for the river and run along the bank. Then he’d take a short rest in one of the parks littered along the river. Then he could ask Mattie if his arguments were good. Josh was also really good with people and impartial to boot, but Al didn’t have his number. Well, that’s what facebook was for. It was time Al got back in touch with him anyway, it had been… let’s see… whoa, almost a year since they last spoke? That’s what you get for moving so much, keeping contact with old friends gets complicated.

Al put on his running gear, and set out. The weather was a bit too chilly for comfort, but as long as he kept moving, he should be fine.

The city was fairly quiet at this time, lunchtime wasn’t coming around just yet so all the worker bees were at their desks. During the summer, the riverside would probably be filled with people enjoying the sun, but with winter closing in it was nearly deserted. As he neared downtown, he started seeing more people, but unfortunately it also started drizzling. So much for a zen-inducing jog - might as well get a pizza.

He took a photo of the pepperoni pizza and sent it to Mattie, just out of habit.

  _Hey need some advice w how to tell some1 they cant talk shit about dead ppl_ , he added. And only then realized that he was in the family chat. Crrrraaaaapppp, if his parents figured out who he was talking about they would _flip_! They already knew that Vanya was weird and kinda rude and hated him for that, they didn’t need to think he was some _monster_! Good luck trying to talk some sense into them - they had really liked Connor until they found out he had once tried weed, and then they thought he was the devil. _Every_ kid has tried weed! Hell, even _Mattie_ had smoked weed! More times than Al, by the way, and Al was supposed to be the bad boy twin! He could just imagine the outrage at the Jones household once they found out that Vanya liked his vodka a tad too much. Goddamnit, _where was the delete button?!_

_Jfc i fcked up artie save me_

_Fill the famchat w spam_

_NOW_

_Cmon man stop bein at wokr_

No use. Thank God almighty that Al’s parents didn’t live at their phones, Al needed to take some photos _stat_. Uhh… A detail of a pepperoni, fine, that worked in a pinch, snap a few shots of that and claim it has the face of Jesus on it. Change the angle and lighting a bit. Bring up The Dress. Ask if the pepperoni is red and white or brown and white. 420 blaze it! Legalize pot!

It was better to let mr. and mrs. Jones to think Al was high and rambling than have them speculate about Vanya. As the hour marched ever forward, Al wrote more meaningless messages to the chat. It worked even better when Mattie wasn’t answering him, he thought, made Al look a little bit extra kooky, talking to himself in a family chat. And his parents totally took the bait.

_Get your act together Alfred, you’ve been on a slippery slope since Kansas_ , his mom said, and anything his mom said, his dad agreed with. Crisis averted! He wrote some generic _sorry, mom_ message and promised to get clean. Then he made sure to send the original message to _only_ the intended receiver, then left for the grocery store. Whenever he came up with a good argument, he sent that to Mattie, who was being too much of a good worker and only checking his phone on breaks. His first comment was _How are you still so hung up on this guy when all he seems to be is a weirdo?_ and Al took offense to that. In fact, he took even more offense to his dear brother being an asshole than he did to the idiotic headlines on all the papers and clickbait that day. _When will we be safe again?_ , _Do you still trust in the police?_ , _Serial killer on the loose in Wisconsin_ , _police stand idly by!_ , and so on. Reporters didn’t know jack shit about police work. Maybe if they let the cops _do their work_ instead of harassing them for interviews and accusing them of laziness, some progress could be made. Vanya had told that the task force for the Baton Killer was already much too small for an investigation of this scale, and a large chunk of their time had been wasted on appeasing the media until the growing pile of work had forced them to basically abandon all contact with them.

The latest victim’s photo was in most of the front pages and articles. The man looked sorta familiar. He probably resembled someone Al had known at some point, lord knew he had been involved with lots of brunet fitness enthusiasts. He totally looked like someone Al would’ve dated before he met Vanya – hmm, something about that rang a bell. How, though? Vanya had zero friends so it couldn’t be that Al had run into the victim with him. Or… Hmm, that did sound – _holy shit, was that Kyle?_ Kyle “I casually threw Vanya into a murderous rage days afterwards” McCoffeeshop? This victim didn’t have the beard that Kyle did, but Al  was pretty sure it was him. Or was it? It had been over a week, so Al couldn’t remember his face that well, and beards always make people look different.

A quick google search revealed that the victim was not Kyle. It was Jake Fowler, a 35-year-old priest, whose possible connections to past victims were being investigated. He’d been killed a few days earlier, the same day Vanya had run off from their date. So it looked like BK was back to not bothering to hide the bodies, Dubois with his 10-day hiding place had been a one-time case.

Al wished he could see how Vanya was at work. If he was somehow more concentrated, more driven. There was something so hot about a man who lost himself in his work. Though from what Al had seen so far, nothing suggested Ivan was any different at the office than he was at home.

Convincing Mattie that Vanya was totally worth Al’s time and _quirky_ , not creepy, was a lot of work, but in the end Mattie came to his senses and offered some points. He even got Artie to help, and together they compiled a comprehensive list of arguments. Al wanted to make them more emotional, but Mattie and Artie both thought that logic might appeal to Vanya more. Al did include them in his flash cards, but he was still sure the explanations Al had come up with would be the ones that tipped the scales. It just made more sense, he had seen _first hand_ how emotional Vanya was under that thick hide.

Well, they were about to be put under the test. Vanya came over straight from work, as he had promised, and was puzzled when he only received a brief welcome hug and not a kiss. He apparently no idea what he had walked into. Al was in serious mode, and serious Al was 100% business.

 “Okay mister, sit your ass down.”

Vanya did as he was told, already getting defensively grouchy. Al took out his cue cards - his arguments would’ve looked more convincing if he didn’t need cheat notes to remember them, but Al didn’t trust himself being able to keep a straight head when Vanya started counterarguing - the man had proved time and time again that he had the unique ability to make Al lose his cool and doubt himself.

 “Point one: an emotional bond doesn’t break once a person is dead. To the dead guy’s family and friends he’s still important and they’re at a real vulnerable state of mind when they realize someone they loved is never coming back.”

 “You can skip the Emotions 101 lecture. I work in homicide, I know how families react to death.”

 “I bet, but I doubt you actually _understand_. That’s why I’m starting at the very basics.”

 “Alright”, Vanya drawled and rolled his eyes very theatrically.

 “Point two: to their loved ones, a dead person’s body is sacred. Seeing harm done to it is like seeing harm done to a live person.”

 “Yes, yes, I also know that desecrating a body upsets people. You _can_ skip the basics, just tell me why _I_ should care about a corpse.”

 “How can you _not_!” Al groaned exasperated. This was already going south. “Wait a sec, I have a point regarding that somewhere in here…”

Vanya rolled his eyes again as Al flipped through his stack. He didn’t have an exact counterpoint, but he found a couple that were somewhat close.

 “Point six: a dead person was alive at some point, and you wouldn’t disrespect a living person, right?” Ivan cocked an eyebrow at that.  “Actually scratch that, you totally would. Point seventeen: a dead person cannot defend themselves, so it’s bad to accuse them.”

Before, Vanya had merely been annoyed, but just then his whole being morphed into something that forebode bad news. The storm in his eyes darkened and he folded his arms.

 “Can Stalin and Hitler defend themselves anymore? People seem very comfortable with accusing _them_ of horrible things. Things they were very much guilty of. Shame on those defamers”, he derided.

 “Stop that! You know they’re not the same thing as some random dude who just liked clubbing!”

 “What I’m asking is _why_ are they different?”, Ivan countered, and honestly he was seriously starting piss Al off with his uncooperativeness. “Why is excusing one bad deed acceptable, but not others?”

 “Because Hitler killed millions of people! _That’s_ why!”, Al yelled, vexed by the willful stupidity. “Dubois just liked dancing and having sex, _his_ bad deeds didn’t kill anyone!”

 “There’s no need to yell, my hearing is perfectly fine”, Ivan said, the sarcastic little shit, intentionally making Al even madder. Well mission fucking _accomplished_!

 “You’re doing this on purpose! You’re just some psychopath who enjoys pissing me off!”

 “Excuse me?” Ivan said, his eyes narrowing into a poisonous glare. Al had known this would turn into a fight, he just hadn’t expected it to go bad _this_ fast. What a fucking idiot had be been, thinking Ivan would ever listen to reason instead of his bullshit brain that fucking sucked at being human? “You’re fine with calling me a psychopath to my face while I’m still alive, but if I suddenly died you’d claim I was some saint?”

 “No! I wouldn’t! You’re such an asshole, can’t you just _try_ and understand? I’m doing my best here, and you’re having none of it! _Sit back down_! Now!”

Al took a deep breath and counted to twenty for good measure, while Ivan seethed silently on the couch. Thank the heavens for small miracles, just hearing him breathe would’ve set Al off at that moment.

Once he felt he wouldn’t blow up at the sound of Ivan’s voice, Al started going through his notes again.

#11: many people believe in life after death and want to believe their loved one has gone to a better place. No, that didn’t work here. #3: most religions consider desecrating a body - they’d already gone over that. #4, #5, no use, #6 had already failed, nothing in #10...

Screw the notes, there was nothing good in them. Al took a deep breath to gather his thoughts. Time to advance into personal emotions. That’s what Al had been sure would work in the first place, and he didn’t need the stupid flash cards for talking about his own feelings.

 “Okay, let’s try another approach. You like me, don’t you? No, don’t say anything, you’ll just derail me. You like me, ergo you wouldn’t like someone talking shit about me. Just nod if you agree.” At least Ivan had the common sense to nod, and not shake his head. Because that would’ve been the end of their relationship, right then and there. “Good, so you’re following so far. Now, let’s say someone murdered me. Go ahead, picture it. As violent as you can make it. Like, ripped off limbs and such.”

Al had been hoping for some kind of twitch, or grimace, but maybe Ivan wasn’t following the instructions or he was already so used to seeing beat up bodies they no longer phased him. Or, more likely, Al’s mangled body was exactly what he wanted to see right then. Ivan only continued glaring at Al without a single twitch.

 “Okay, now you’re standing there next to my body, and the murderer is there. And he’s calling me a slut who deserved it, and a faggot bitch and shit. Would you be angry at him?”

 “I think we have already established that I am very fond of you and will miss you dearly when you are no longer here”, Ivan answered without hesitation, while still glaring at Al like he was five seconds away from stabbing him. It was weird seeing someone so mad and still spouting romantic bullshit like that. If it had been Al, he would’ve said something along the lines of _I’d buy the guy a drink_! and stormed off. He would have regretted it later, sure, and for Ivan he might have even apologized once he had cooled off, but he could never in a million years have said something so sweet in a fight. “I would not hesitate to torture him to death, but what I struggle to understand is why I should venerate your dead body.”

 “Because that dead body is _me_ , you idiot! Let’s say that murderer has you tied up so you can’t do anything, and he starts cutting off my junk or raping my body or something. Are you _honestly_ saying that wouldn’t make you even angrier?”

 “No, why would it? You can’t feel it, you’re dead.”

 “Jesus christ, I give up! What you need is a _shrink_!”

 “So you’re done? Can I go now?”

 “Yes! And _fuck you_ , don’t ever call me again!”

 “Wouldn’t dream of it”, Ivan muttered darkly and left calmly, like an eye of the storm passing through.

That level of sociopathy could not be culturally induced, it had to be innate. Best to run for the hills before Al found himself at the wrong end of a gun. There was no fixing Ivan - something in his brain had sprained, probably all the way back in the womb. Al didn’t have the expertise and energy to deal with shit like this for the rest of his life. He couldn’t, and he didn’t want to.

Screw Ivan! Al was getting a coke and a bacon burger. The nearest McDonald’s was a brisk walk away, should be enough to forget and leave behind assholes like Ivan Braginski. The weather always sucked in this state anyway, maybe it was finally time to check out New Mexico. Then that would be 12 states in the bag, just 48 to go until he had lived in each one. Best leave Hawaii for last because he might not want to move out of there. Florida was the traditional choice for retirees, but Al wanted to live there while he was still able to wrestle the gators. He hadn’t gotten to do that in Louisiana, on account of having been in preschool.

Oh, hey, Josh finally responded.

_Took me a while to remember who you were:D What you been up to?_

How anyone was able to forget him at all, Al couldn’t understand, but catching up with with Josh was still fun. Him and his wife were planning when to have their first kid. His wife wanted to wait until they owned a house, but it might take several years and they also didn’t want to wait too long. She was also in the process of switching her work place, she used to be a social worker in geriatric ward but in a week she was moving to psychiatric. Al wished her luck with the nutcases, leaving out that he had just broken up with one - it had been mostly fun while it lasted, but Al didn’t want to dwell on it, and for once he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Josh would only start assuring him that he’d find someone eventually, and despite wanting nothing to do with Ivan anymore he didn’t feel like thinking about someone new just yet, either.

Luckily the conversation then turned to an old coworker, who had gotten injured on duty and lost a lung for smoke damage. Al sent the man his regards, but he had completely forgotten about Al. That made more sense than Josh, since with Carl he at least hadn’t talked with much because he was such a boring homeboy. With Josh he had partied a lot, and had a crush on him at one point, but when it turned out he was straight and taken, he had quickly moved on. The memory of Tex had been too fresh.

Al was getting hungry again, and since he didn’t feel like cooking, he asked if Gema or Michael wanted to go out to eat. Al had gotten to know Michael a little better at his birthday party, and he could be really funny. If he practiced a little he could be a stand-up comedian. They were both free, and they all agreed to meet at a kebab place. Al didn’t eat kebab that much, he preferred pizza and burgers, but it could be good every now and then.

Gema got there first, and greeted Al with a wide smile and a warm hug. He wasn’t surprised to see her hairstyle had changed - as a hairdresser, she liked playing with styles and colors. Al had only known her for a couple days when her hair had changed from long and straight to a curly bob. This time she had gone for a pixie, which kinda made her look like an over-enthusiastic politician.

 “What office you running for?” Al joked. Gema didn’t get it, and explaining a joke ruins it every time so Al dropped it.

 “Are you on vacation now?”

 “Nah, just a free day. Planned to spend it at home but I can never say no to food.”

 “Except taco bell.”

 “That doesn’t count as food.”

Gema wasn’t a vegetarian but still preferred veggies, so she had falafel. Michael joined them five minutes later. He was way more boring than he had been at his birthday party. Maybe the reality of having turned 30 and not having a steady job had just hit. But even then, Al didn’t mind him - after Gema had to get home to her kids, Michael invited Al to his house, and he saw no reason to refuse. Having boring company is still better than being bored all by yourself. They killed an hour by playing poker, but when Michael kept winning and then suggested upping the stakes, Al smelled trouble. “Stakes” only ever meant gambling or strip poker. Michael looked a little disappointed at the refusal but didn’t press the issue. They switched to watching a movie, and that was where Michael’s sense of humor revealed itself again - he picked some hilariously shitty Bollywood knockoff superhero movie. They both cackled their asses off the whole time. When Al’s phone beeped, he could barely see the screen the tears.

When he could, though, his face instantly scrunched up. Of course the message had to be from Ivan, like he hadn’t ruined Al’s day and life enough already. He must’ve wanted to get back at Al for that psychopath comment. Al should block his number.

_I will try, but I cannot promise a result_

Aww, Vanya really was just a big, frowny teddy bear! Al had always known he was The One.

 

~¨:.:¨~

 

After the fight with Fredya yesterday, Ivan thought it might be beneficial to try and understand how others experienced the world. Even though he was unable to share that experience, it would make Fredya feel better. However angry Ivan got at him, the fact remained that Fredya was precious to him and as long as he was willing to receive anything Ivan gave, Ivan would stay by his side.

Since Toris was the best example of a compassionate person around, Ivan decided he would follow his behavior closely and try to replicate some of the actions. One of those actions was very easy - getting a coffee for everyone. Milk coffee with one sugar cube for Toris, black with two sugar cubes for Amanda,  and plain black for Ivan. Usually he waited until everyone was in the office, every now and then he dropped by a coffee shop on the way to work and brought them with him. Just in case, Ivan waited until everyone had gathered in the office. When Toris came in empty-handed, Ivan almost sighed in relief. He didn’t like changing his plans on the fly.

 “Good morning”, Toris smiled, and Amanda smiled in response. She was in a much better mood than yesterday, she had barely even groaned when Ivan had come in. Ivan was so concentrated on studying Toris’ body language he forgot to repeat the greeting, but since it was hardly rare for Ivan to ignore his colleagues, it elicited no reactions. Fredya would not approve of such behavior, Ivan would start rectifying this habit tomorrow.

Toris’ movements were fluid but controlled. It gave the impression he did nothing by accident. Ivan had noted long ago that Toris had excellent control over his body, he was never off balance and never miscalculated a distance. He would have made an excellent athlete in that respect. He thought he remembered Toris doing some kind of sport as a hobby, but digging into his memory produced no results. It had not been vital enough information, so he had not written it down and studied the note. It would have been odd to ask about it out of the blue, so Ivan did not.

 “I think I need some coffee, should I get you guys a cup?” Toris asked.

 “I will get them”, Ivan said, all too eagerly. He tried to come up with something to say, to make it look more natural, but the prolonged silence following his inability to summon words to his mouth would have made any further excuses even weirder. He should have just gotten up right away and walked out. He was making this weird. They would wonder what this was all about. No normal person would ever say they would go do something and proceed to just stand there.

 “Oh, alright. Two sugars -”

 “Black with two sugars for Casey, and milk with one sugar for you. I will be back soon.”

Ivan only went to get the coffees when he needed to get out of the office to cool down. It had only happened two times before this, but Ivan was sure the pattern had been noticed. When he got back, he needed to appear perfectly cool and collected. He preferred his current asshole reputation to being known as a nervous wreck.

Just to find out if either of his colleagues had noticed anything odd about his behavior, he eavesdropped behind the door for a while. It was quiet, but he could hear them talking. He couldn’t make out the words, though. That just meant Ivan had to come in without a warning, and see if there was suddenly a break in the conversation.

Almost bursting through the door, Ivan tumbled in.

 “Yeah, but I don’t think that’s the reason, honestly”, Amanda commented to whatever Toris had said right before Ivan broke down the door.

 “It could be a factor”, Toris said, shrugging. He was as calm as he ever could be around Ivan, meaning that he appeared relaxed but was secretly on his toes. Ivan handed him his coffee and got a thank you in response. No tension, no break. But the real test was in asking what they were discussing.

 “A factor in what?”

 “Amanda changed her foot lotion a week ago, and that’s when Hannah started licking her toes.”

 “But she’s never cared about any other lotion I use.”

Alright, perhaps Ivan could believe they had not been talking about him. Not even Toris could lie that smoothly to save someone else’s hide.

 “It does seem too much of a coincidence”, Ivan pondered as he gave Amanda her coffee. She did not thank him. Ivan still said you’re welcome, because it was what Toris would have done, but out of Ivan’s mouth it sounded passive-aggressive. He tried to be more like Toris but just turned into Amanda. Perhaps he should try to emulate that slight nervousness a bit to balance out the bitchiness?

 “Alright. We should start with the case now.”

 “Since the man was last seen leaving his house, we should check the traffic camera footage near there.”

 “You two take over that, I’m fucking _done_ with cameras. I’m going to talk with the friends, continue where I left off yesterday”, Amanda announced, and quickly walked out before anyone could object or approve. Ivan would not have objected, he preferred her doing her own thing. That was when she worked best. And on that day it gave Ivan an even better opportunity to observe Toris uninterrupted.

Toris was usually fairly talkative, even with Ivan, but when he had a task to concentrate on, he could get completely absorbed in it. He might barely move for an hour. Ivan had noticed this very early on, and he usually appreciated the habit. It gave Ivan an opportunity to work on his own terms. However, when Ivan was supposed to be observing human behavior, that level of concentration was not ideal. He didn’t want to disturb Toris, because it would make him look even more out of sorts than the coffee episode had, but the anxiety over not being able to study the man was ruining his already horrendous work morale. Ivan was largely just pretending to glance at the security footage in between openly staring at his partner. Nothing short of a gunshot to the head could have broken Toris’ concentration, so Ivan wasn’t worried, though. Not that there was much to look at, physically Toris was a very unassuming, unobtrusive, unremarkable, unassertive and uninteresting specimen. He was neither short nor tall, thin nor fat, ugly nor handsome, he was in between everything. If you ignored the bob haircut, he was aggressively forgettable.

Toris’ appearance was a large part of why people underestimated him. Looking at him, no one would guess how sharp his mind was and how dangerous he was on the battlefield. As he studied each second of the footage in front of him, Ivan could only admire his dedication. If Fredya hadn’t been pressing on his mind, Ivan would have been sorry when he saw Toris pausing a record, frowning, and then beckoning Ivan to see whatever he had found.

 “Ivan, come take a look”, he said, moving a little to the side to make room for Ivan in front of the monitor. The footage was from a traffic camera in a major crossroads. Toris pointed to the upper left corner.

Oh. _Oh shit._

 “Isn’t this you?”

 “It - ah, it, could be?”

Time stamp at 12:45, this was _bad_.

 “But I doubt it is, it has to be someone who just looks like me.”

Oh _fuck_ , of course right then past-him had to turn his face to the camera, what the _fuck_ had he been _thinking_ , this was it, the end of everything -

 “Huh, funny coincidence. What were you even doing there, your house is nowhere near.”

 “Oh, I must have been, um, I can’t remember.”

Just get Toris to look away for _two seconds_ , just two seconds was all he needed -

 “I wonder how many times I’ve been spotted in traffic cameras.”

 “Are you searching for Fowler’s car?”

 “Yes, it looked like he was driving this way. Grey Chevy.”

 “That one?” Ivan asked, pointing to a black car that wasn’t even a Chevrolet, to deliberately cover the right lower corner where Kyle Rogers had just popped into view.

 “No, that looks more like black to me”, Toris said. “Fowler’s car is lighter.”

 “Oh, I see”, Ivan said, slowly removing his hand to give Rogers more time to disappear from view. His back was still in the frame when Ivan’s hand receded, but because Toris wasn’t paying attention to him, he slipped out of view without being noticed. Or that was how it seemed. Toris was a very intelligent and intuitive man, Ivan was sure he could tell there had been something Ivan had wanted him to miss.

 “Looks like you’re in a hurry”, Toris said when the lights turned green and past-Ivan powerwalked across the street and disappeared outside the frame.

 “Haha, yeah”, Ivan laughed nervously. That was so suspicious, he should have just stayed quiet. Obviously his stalking had been caught on video, that was only to be expected when you followed someone for over two hours, but who would have ever thought that _Toris_ would be the one to spot him in those recordings?

 “There’s Fowler again”, Toris muttered, sinking back to his flow, and switching cameras each time Fowler’s car drove out of frame. Ivan wanted to breathe out a sigh of relief, but he was worried it would disturb Toris and raise uncomfortable questions.

 

-_-_-_-_-

 

With Toris’ love for his work and Ivan’s stress at nearly being caught stalking Rogers, Ivan had had very little success in observing and imitating Toris’ natural behavior. Hopefully tomorrow would bring no surprises, and he could keep working on making Fredya happy. Even if he seemed to have already forgotten about their latest fight, new ones would keep coming unless Ivan changed himself. Ivan was not oblivious to the fact that he was a bad person with terrible social skills, conversely - Ivan had many flaws and vile aspects to him that only he himself was privy to. Katyusha may have had an inkling, she was far more perceptive than she let on, and had witnessed Ivan at his worst. Little Tashenka only knew of it, but Ivan doubted Katyushka had told her any details, everyone had done their best to shield the youngest, protect her from the world and her brother, and yet she had insisted on loving him, not understanding -

Ivan’s personal phone rang so rarely that the unfamiliar ringtone startled him. The caller ID was Katyushka. It was unfortunate that the eldest sibling had to be so considerate of other people, if she had called while Ivan was at work he could have ignored it with a clear conscience. But because she had waited until he was home, he was obligated to answer her.

 “Hello”, he said, trying hard not to let his weariness creep into his voice. Not only was she perceptive, she was also a champion worrywart - she bended over backwards to make any situation look worse than it actually was, especially concerning her siblings. Ivan needed to keep her unsuspecting, she had her own circumstances to lament. There was no need to add Ivan’s stress to that pile.

 “Vanechka! Are you okay?” Katyushka nearly screamed into the phone. Oh, that was just great. She was already on the verge of panicking. If Ivan let his stress shine through even a little bit, she would cross over into hysterics in seconds.

 “Of course, sister. Why? Has something happened?” he asked innocently. When she was this distressed, he had to use every trick in the book to make her think nothing was wrong. That included pretending to think so little of his work that it would never cross his mind it could strain someone.

 “I just heard about the newest murder in the news today, I was worried that you were being bullied again…”

 “Oh dear. I hope you haven’t been fretting the whole day, everything is alright.”

 “You sound tired, did you sleep well last night?”

Of course she had to notice. She never noticed what was going well, only what sounded like trouble. That probably said something about her psyche. That was hardly new in the Braginski line. Perhaps she would also start stalking people soon.

 “I slept very little, the body was found last night so I was called to the scene. I’ll go to bed early tonight”, Ivan explained, hoping that would be enough to convince her. She was almost calm already, it seemed Ivan was an even better actor than he had thought.

 “If it’s just that… I’m glad if that’s all there is to it. I feel like the media is out to get you, personally, every time a new victim is found. I know how you like to take responsibility, but I hope you understand not everything is your fault.”

Of course not everything was his fault. No one was at fault for _everything_. But that didn’t stop Ivan from being responsible for many, _many_ things.

 “I don’t take it personally, I’m sure you’ve noticed that. I keep telling you that there is no need to worry about me, you should concentrate on yourself. Are _you_ still busy with work? ”

 “Very”, Katyushka groaned. “I’ve had to pick up more shifts because we have some kind of stomach bug going around. I’ve almost been hoping to catch it, too, so I could rest for a few days.”

 “You could always refuse a shift, they couldn’t blame you when you already work so hard.”

 “I couldn’t just leave everyone else in trouble, they’d have to cover my shifts. I’m healthy and strong so I should do what I can to help everyone. It’s just like what you do!”

Ivan almost laughed at how far from the truth that was. How sweet of Katyushka, that despite her propensity for seeing the worst in every situation, she always saw the best in _people_. Even if that view was completely backwards.

 “I’m flattered that that’s how you see me.”

 “My sweet little baby brother Vanechka, you give yourself too little credit. I’m sorry but I have to go, my break is over and they’re calling for me.”

 “Take care of yourse-”

 “Bye, Vanya!”

Click.

Good, Katyushka hanging up on him meant that she wasn’t too worried about him anymore. Now, if only he could manage to be as calm with Tasha, she was bound to call in a few days. Katyushka would try to reassure her that Ivan was alright and what he most needed was peace and quiet to concentrate on his work, but Tasha was physically incapable of leaving her beloved brother alone, especially when she thought he was going through rough times. As touching as that was, it was also what he needed least when he was stressed.

Ugh. He didn’t want to be awake anymore. He didn’t want to think about _anything_ anymore. Who cared if it was only six o’clock, Ivan was going to bed.

 

~¨:.:¨~

 

Vanya was almost as busy as when Dubois had been found. He tried to make some time for Al over the week, but just couldn’t find the energy to visit Al. Love-starved, Al had finally decided to take matters into his hands and just go to Vanya’s without invitation. He had rung Vanya’s doorbell and surprised him with Chinese takeout. It had been no five-star candle light dinner, but Al could tell Vanya had really appreciated it, maybe even more than he would have appreciated a dinner at a michelin-star restaurant. He hadn’t even asked if Al was staying the night or going home. Encouraged by that, Al had stayed two nights. That had really helped Vanya - he wasn’t even a fraction as stressed and tired as when Dubois had been investigated. This was the first time Al had a calming effect on anyone. José was convinced Vanya was just on drugs, because he found Al being relaxing just that unbelievable. Joke’s on him - just look at Vanya now, perfectly relaxed, serving as Al’s mattress.

You know, while it was great, it also sucked, because Vanya was just reading his boring notes again, even though he had Al right there in his lap. The man had no imagination whatsoever. Al had been hopeful when Vanya had initiated a make-out session after coming home from work, but then he had willfully ignored any further affections. So Al had given up and taken what he could - spooning on the couch, him watching a movie and Vanya reading his stupid, ugly notebook. And it was such a nice evening, too. It was finally getting properly cold so there was real snow on the ground instead of that gross slush, and no wind to speak of. The sky was clear, too, not a cloud in sight, and the moon was a picturesque crescent. If they weren’t in the city, they could see the stars really well. The moon being so thin, the snow wouldn’t reflect too much light. It had been a while since Al last saw a proper night sky.

 “Hey, wanna go stargazing?”

Vanya put down his notebook and looked surprised. Yeah, Al didn’t come across as the outdoors type, and honestly he mostly wasn’t, but every now and then some wholesome outdoorsy goodness was just what he needed. And stargazing _was_ basically the most romantic thing ever. Never mind that you had to drive out real far from the city to get a good view, and that it got stupid cold in the winter at night, but seeing the Milky Way while cradled in the arms of your lover just couldn’t be topped in the romance department.

 “Alright. We could try Jackson park, it doesn’t have many trees.”

 “No, no, we gotta drive way out into the boondocks. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

 “Are you sure you want to? Have you ever even been camping?”

 “Hell yeah. I lived in the middle of a desert for a year, I know what isolation is. You?”

A flash of discomfort crossed Vanya’s face before he answered. Was he really that afraid of spontaneity? Or was this another case of his mind working all backwards? You’d think he’d jump at the chance to get away from civilization, what with his hatred of humanity, but maybe he only liked being alone in a crowd?

 “We used to play in the woods every now and then when we were little, but it isn’t quite the same as a desert. Being so far away does not sound like a good idea. What if something happens?”

 “Vanya, baby, nothing’s gonna happen! We just drive out, stay for a while, and then drive back. I’ll keep you safe.”

 “I will consider it if you can find a pharmacy there that carries an antidote for snake poison”, Vanya claimed, but in reality it seemed like he was warming up to the idea. He was smiling, at least, and the objection was said in a teasing tone.

 “I promise, it’s gonna be the one of the best nights of your life.”

 “I will hold you responsible, should either of us die.”

 “Fine by me! We should get driving right away if we want to get back before morning. Put on your warmest clothes, it’s gonna be freezing.”

 “What? _Now_?”

 “Yeah, now.”

For a few seconds Vanya looked alarmed. He didn’t like surprises, because he liked everything nice and planned beforehand, so his life could be as boring and predictable as possible. But despite his concern, the thought intrigued him, so it didn’t take much more convincing to get him dressed. Al borrowed a coat from him, since his bomber jacket wasn’t meant for prolonged cold. Ivan also offered fur hats for them both, but Al convinced him to leave the ridiculous things home. Why did he even _have_ them? No city in the state had cold enough winters for them.

On the way, Vanya got steadily more nervous as they went on. He’d never been far from a city, he said, and hadn’t realized how dark it got. He had expected it to be more like the city, where streetlights didn’t allow for real darkness. He denied being scared, but from the way he struggled to keep his voice unaffected and how he steadfastly kept his eyes on the road ahead, and most of all how he started leaning more and more towards Al the further they got, Al called bullshit. He wanted to tease Vanya about it, but the Russian could get really touchy at times, so instead Al just took one of Vanya’s hands in his own. It must have helped somewhat, since Vanya started taking more part in Al’s monologuing, and it got halfway to being dialogue. He  even stayed relatively calm when Al took the car off the main road and started navigating whatever tiny dirt roads he found. If he’d been alone, he could’ve spent the whole night just driving along, not caring where he ended up and only worrying about how to get home once he felt like going home. However, with Vanya fretting about finding their way back, he didn’t want to scare the man further and so stopped the car at the first turnout they happened upon.

 “Isn’t it a great view? Aren’t you glad we came all the way here?”

 “This is exactly the type of place people get murdered in”, Vanya mumbled in response, but the way his eyes were glued to the skies revealed that the scales were tipped in favor of the stars. Al settled on his back on the ground and beckoned Vanya to join him. Vanya settled his head on Al’s chest, still nervous. Even through the thick layers, he thought he could feel Vanya’s heart thumping. Maybe it was just imagination, but he still soothingly petted Vanya’s back. It felt odd being the one comforting the other, when Vanya was a head taller and about 40 lbs. heavier. It should’ve been Al curling up in Vanya strong arms and being protected. Not that he was the type, there were very few things he was scared of, and murderers weren’t one of those. He could K.O. any bad guy who had the brilliant idea of coming after him. Ghosts were another matter, but they weren’t real, so who cared?

 “We’re the only people for miles.”

 “I can’t even see anything. It’s so dark.”

 “Not even the stars? Babe, I think you’ve gone blind.”

Vanya snorted at the stupid joke. It couldn’t be that he found it actually funny, it was just his nerves. Some more reassuring was in order.

 “Don’t you worry about anything. I’ll keep you safe, darling.”

 “Thank you.”

Vanya was probably blushing. It was too dark to see, but his voice was subdued and embarrassed.

 “Look, there’s the Big Dipper”, Al said and pointed at the sky. Ursa Major was almost right above them. He had learned to recognize most of the constellations visible in the northern hemisphere a long time ago – his father was a space enthusiast, and Al had picked up on the hobby very early. His dad was a star man, while Al grew up to become more interested in planets.

 “The stars that make it are called Alkaid, Mizar, Alioth, Megrez, Phecda, Merak and Dubhe”, Vanya informed, not knowing Al knew the names of most stars in the zodiac.

 “Wow, I didn’t know you were into astronomy!”

 “I don’t have much time for it these days, but I was always interested in space. I think every child is at some point in their life.”

 “Have you heard about the giant blob of water just floating around in space?”

 “The one orbiting a quasar, who hasn’t?” Vanya answered arrogantly. “Do you know about Kepler-452b?” If he was looking to challenge Al, he was up for a serious competition!

 “Sure, it was huge news! It’s a shame the star it orbits is too dim to see with the naked eye. We could’ve searched for it.”

 “It would be difficult to find it, there are so many stars”, Vanya said, his voice was full of awe. Al wished he could see his face, it was rare to see Vanya with any other expression than calculated calmness and small smiles. With that kind of voice, he had to be staring up at the sky in absolute wonder. “I can’t even find Cassiopeia, and it’s one of the first I learned.”

 “You’ll find it eventually, love. Straight down from Dubhe”, Al reminded, and even pointed a helpful finger towards the constellation. It was one of the easiest ones to find, thanks to the stars that made the W-shape being some of the brightest in the sky. There were also a bunch of fainter stars in the constellation, but not a lot of people even knew that. Most thought it was just the five. Vanya probably wasn’t one of those people.

 “I know _that_ much”, Vanya scoffed, offended that Al thought he was _that_ unfamiliar with the night sky. “I’ve just never seen this many stars, I can’t see the forest for the trees.”

Al saw the opportunity for a great joke. It might even help Vanya relax some more. He was already doing great, he’d been _so_ scared to come out in to the middle of nowhere, populated only by tiny-ass dirt roads with no lights anywhere, and yet there he was. Nestled comfortably in Al’s arms, breathing calmly,  not even glancing around frantically.

 “Wow, the stars are so beautiful”, Al started, snickering.

 “I’m still certain that we will be leaving this place in bodybags, but I must agree”, Vanya answered, also with a light chuckle.

 “Know who else is beautiful?”

 “Many people”, Vanya mumbled darkly, probably thinking along the lines of _not me,_ and possibly _I will find them all and eliminate them_. “Which one are you thinking of?”

 “No, no, you’re supposed to say _who_ , and then I say _me_.” Because Al didn’t dare say anyone else’s name like the meme required, after the reaction Kyle had elicited from Vanya.

 “Oh, it is a joke of some sort. I see.”

Vanya sounded a tiny bit relieved. Next time Al would play it straight, Vanya really needed a boost in self-confidence, despite having the best skin Al had ever seen in real life and wonderful proportions, not to mention his hair was the silkiest thing on Earth. Maybe he could’ve used a little bit of muscle definition, but on the other hand, the soft teddy-bear look fit him to a T. Al couldn’t have pulled it off, he needed to be lean because his aura was completely different from Vanya’s.

 “Why the hell do you even _have_ internet? You didn’t even know _what does the fox say_!”

 “I don’t have time for memes, Fredya. They are meaningless.”

 “You can pronounce _Megrez_ but not _meme_?”

 “I can also pronounce Arcturus.”

Oooooh, the uppity snob! Like he was any better at English than Al was at Latin! Stupid Vanko-sounding walking stereotype.

 “No wonder, I’ve tried listening to Russian and I’m convinced it’s just people hissing at random.”

 “Hush, _lyubimiy_ ”, Vanya laughed and snuggled up a little closer to Al’s face. So even if the joke had failed, it had reached its goal of relaxing Vanya further. Al kissed the top of his head, glad that Vanya had decided to forgo the stupid fur hat. As funny as it would have been, it wouldn’t have fit the romantic atmosphere.

 “Vanya, say something in Russian.”

 “Would you like me to hiss something specific at you?”

 “Nah. Feel free to profess your undying love to me or whatever. I just like to hear you talking in tongues.” Al only spoke English and a few words of Spanish, thanks to his brother-in-law. Almost all of those words were cusses.

 “I will call you a little poopy-pants brat”, Vanya snickered. Knowing him, he totally would.

 “Aww, c’mon”, Al play-whined. Vanya chuckled against his neck and thought for a little while. When he spoke again, it sounded like he was reciting a poem or something.

 “ _Sredi mirov, v mertsanii svetil, odnoy zvezdy ya povtoryayu imya…_ _Ne potomu, chtob ya yeyo lyubil, a potomu, chto ya tomlyus' s drugimi. I yesli mne somnen'ye tyazhelo, ya u neyo odnoy ishchu otveta, ne potomu, chto ot neyo svetlo, a potomu, chto s ney ne nado sveta_.”

Poems under the stars. Vanya really had a knack for romance, he should let it show more often. Intimacy was a little scary for him, so he liked to play it cool and keep his distance. It was nice that he was slowly coming out of his shell, even if Al was getting impatient with how little physical contact there was in their relationship compared to the previous ones he’d had.

 ”That was nice. Got any more?”

 ” _Mne nuzhno vremya podumat'_.”

 ”I have no idea what you just said, but it was hot.”

 “ _Spasibo. Ya sdelayu vse vozmozhnoye, chtoby poradovat' vas_.”

 “I wish I knew foreign languages.”

 “You have the time to study one”, Vanya lectured, like Al didn’t already have his hands full with his hobbies. It was easy for Vanya to say, he already knew English. He had forgotten how energy-draining learning something new was.

 “Hey, you were supposed to only talk Russian. I’ll let it slide if you say something romantic.”

 “Alright. _Ya ne zasluzhivayu tebya v svoyey zhizni, no ya rad, chto vstretil tebya. Ya nikogda ne khochu rasstavat'sya s toboy. Ya khotel by vyrazit' svoyu blagodarnost' luchshe_.”

 “Everything sounds so smooth when it comes out of your mouth.”

 “ _Vot klassika: Ya vas lyubil - lyubov' yeshche, byt' mozhet, v dushe moyey ugasla ne sovsemyu no pust' ona vas bol'she ne trevozhit - ya ne khochu pechalit' vas nichem. Ya vas lyubil bezmolvno, beznadezhno, to robost'yu, to revnost'yu tomim - ya vas lyubil tak krenno, tak nezhno, kak day vam bog lyubimoy byt' drugim_.”

 “I bet you’d make a good singer.”

 “I’m afraid I am a better dancer than singer. I can carry a tune but anything more is beyond me.”

 “Really? We should go dancing some time, tear up the dance floor.”

 “Not that kind of dancing. I meant ballroom and ballet.”

 “You? Ballet?” Al asked astonished. Ballroom he didn’t bat an eye at, but a ballerina needs to be able to support his own weight on his toes. Vanya would need to weigh about half his current weight to do that.

 “I know, I don’t have the body type for it”, Vanya agreed begrudgingly.

 “The stereotypes just keep piling up”, Al laughed. He pictured Vanya doing pirouettes with those funny little ballet shoes and crashing through the floor. “Don’t ever change, babe.”

They spent an hour spotting constellations and talking about all the distant planets and stars they had heard of until Al got too cold. In the car Vanya got started on about nebulas, and how in elementary school he had been so jealous of a classmate who had his bedroom walls covered in posters of them that he had emptied ten elmer’s glue bottles in the boy’s backpack. He hadn’t been caught, so he had repeated the trick the next semester. He had planned a third hit, but then the boy had transferred due to his mother remarrying a man in another city. Who knew, baby Vanya had been a little rascal!

 

-_-_-_-_-

 

Since Vanya still hadn’t shown any signs of wanting Al out of his house, he stayed. He wondered if this was how people moved in together - just loiter around until they started feeling like they should participate in paying the rent. Al wasn’t quite that far yet, but he did feel like he should at least buy some food. For once he also wanted to make _real_ food, since Vanya deserved the very best. Al _could_ be a good cook, on the rare occasions he felt like it and really put his mind to it. It was just that nine times out of ten he felt it was too much effort for the end result, when you could just get a tv dinner and put it in the microwave for a couple minutes. But he wasn’t in the mood for making the dessert by himself, too, so he stopped by his house to get the Dunkaroos meant for Michael’s birthday before getting groceries.

Vanya was very thankful for the beef jerky stew. Al felt that had been enough favors from him, so he plopped down on the couch to channel surf while Vanya took care of the dishes. He munched absentmindedly on the cookies, staring vacantly at the screen because nothing good was on. Vanya didn’t even have HBO.

 “What are all these cookies?” Vanya asked when he sat down on the couch next to Al.

 “Oh, I asked Mattie send some Dunkaroos for Michael’s birthday last week.  It was 90’s themed.”

Vanya showed no signs of having heard about the party. So apparently pissing off his boyfriends’ friends on purpose was so commonplace for him it didn’t even register anymore.

 “But if it was last week, what are they still doing here?”

 “They arrived three days late”, Al explained. Mattie had sent them the next day after receiving Al’s text, but as luck would have it, the postal office hadn’t felt like doing their job that week. It was ridiculous how long it could take to ship a package over one lousy border. “Sometimes shipping stuff over the border is a crapshoot, I’m lucky they got here at all. It’d be faster to just drive there and get some from a grocery store!”

Shame about the party, but now Al got to eat all of them by himself and have a nostalgia blast all by himself all over again! And Mattie had really gone out of his way and sent _two_ boxes of each flavor. Everyone, Christmas has  come early! Honestly, sometimes Mattie was the best brother anyone could ask for. It was too bad he wanted to live so far away.

Al scooped up a generous mountain of icing on his cookie and stuffed it in his mouth. It didn’t taste the same as he remembered, but it wasn’t bad. He took the box in his lap and settled in to the nook of Vanya’s arm. He offered a cookie to Vanya, who only looked at it with a critical eye and took the box instead, to check the nutritional label.

 “I can’t believe I used to love these cookies. They’re nothing but sugar and fat, no flavor at all”, he huffed.

 “What? I thought these were just an American thing?” Well, more Canadian than American these days, of course, since they were discontinued in America some years ago.

 “I think they were? It doesn’t feel like it would sell abroad. The icing tasted terribly horribly artificial.”

 “Then how did _you_ know about them?”

 “Who didn’t?” Vanya asked like he was talking with an absolute idiot, someone who had been raised in a barrel under a rock. “And we were young and stupid enough to think these tasted good. Or at least Natasha and I were. Katyusha was always smart enough to know better.”

 “What the hell, I thought you moved to America as an adult. Just how long have you guys lived here?”

 “We moved in ’96.”

_WHAT_?! In the fucking _90’s_?! That was, like, two whole _decades_ ago! Then, shouldn’t that mean Vanya had lived in the states _most his life_? How in the hell was he still so un-American?! He talked like some movie villain from the 80’s and most of his books and movies were in Russian and he had a fur hat in his closet and drank like a fish and loved cabbage soup and a million other things!

Al bolted out of Vanya’s arms and stared at him in shock.

 “Holy _shitballs_ , dude, that was _eons_ ago! How are you still such a walking stereotype?”

At least Vanya had the decency to look ashamed. Letting his boyfriend think he had moved in to the States like, five years ago, what an asshole! Al had told all about his family migrating all over the US when he was a kid, Vanya could’ve at least _mentioned_ his had emigrated to a whole new continent!

 “I wasn’t a very social child. We never learned English back in Russia”, Vanya explained weakly, and while that was totally believable, it was also the horsest of shits Al had heard in a long time. Just because you don’t have a lot of friends doesn’t stop you from hearing English _all around you_! On tv, in the store, in fucking _school_! Was it any wonder Al got the feeling he was being fed full of crap? “And even after the move I really only spoke with my sisters and my uncle.”

Oh, would you look at that, the revelations just kept piling up! For fuck’s sake, was it really _that_ impossible to talk about yourself?

 “Hold on, what’s this about an uncle, now? I never heard about _him_ , are you in witness protection or something? Why don’t you ever _tell_ me anything?”

 “He is a very small part of my life. I haven’t talked to him in a decade”, Ivan told, intentionally only revealing the _bare minimum_ at a time. He was so goddamn dicey about himself, you basically had to be a psychiatrist or a detective yourself to find out anything! It was like he feared some assassin would come after him if anyone ever found out he had been _born_. No one had that much trouble talking about their childhood! Discussing childhood memories should have been casual small talk, not an interrogation! Well, Al wasn’t about to let him off the hook, not _this time_. It was about time he learned about his boyfriend’s past, Ivan already knew basically _everything_ about Al’s childhood. Al had told everything, significant and pointless, leaving out only choice details, such as his short-lived crush on his oh-so-British second cousin waaaay back in the day, when Artie had still been _cool_. But that was beside the matter at hand, point being that childhood memories should come up in conversation, not in third-degree interrogations.

 “I feel like I should ask for the whole story instead of why you still talk like fucking Michael Rostov.”

 “I _just_ said I wasn’t very social.”

Al knew that prying would only make Ivan clamp up, but he was getting frustrated with the man. Whenever conversation veered anywhere _near_ Ivan’s life story, the Russian would change the subject instantly. And he was so damn good with words he always, _always_ managed to sidetrack Al, so that in the end he wouldn’t know a _single_ thing more than he had when they first met.

 “Yeah, but you still went to _school_ , didn’t you? I doubt there was a Russian school wherever you lived.”

Ivan had never given the slightest hint about where he used to live before, or if this had been the only city he had lived in the States. Or if he had moved around in Russia. The only concrete things Al knew were that Ivan had at least two living sisters, two dead parents and one living uncle. Who could ever know if he had more relatives running around the world? Maybe he had a third sister back home in Russia, or a whole herd of cousins, what the hell was he hiding with all this secrecy, huh?

 “My English was so bad I barely understood anyone for a long time. In the summers I worked in my uncle’s car shop, and the mechanics were both Russian so for two months of the year I didn’t even hear English.” Oh, look, yet another detail that had never come up! Ivan had been a mechanic! Or an apprentice mechanic or whatever, that didn’t matter. Ivan had let Al think that he’d only ever been a cop. “That was the main reason my uncle hired them, I’m sure. He missed his home even though he had defected. There wasn’t much need for English in my daily life, and I went out of my way to avoid American culture.”

Well, okay, Al could give him that. He’d been a kid, and it hadn’t been that long since communists had been the villains in every movie. Ivan wasn’t social and easy-going to begin with it, so being bullied about his nationality and accent must’ve worsened his antisocial tendencies. Maybe that was the root behind his hatred of humanity? Maybe baby Vanya would have grown into a people-person if he had stayed in his own culture a little longer. Al might have preferred that, as long as he still got to meet Vanya later on. It would’ve just taken out that pesky mental illness out of the way, hopefully.

 “Okay, I kinda get it. You were stressed out about the move. It _is_ a big change.”

 “Oh yes, I hated America for years”, Vanya chuckled as Al settled back into cuddle mode, snaking one arm behind Vanya’s back and resting his head on Vanya’s shoulder.

 “Ooooh, look at our little Soviet rebel!” Al laughed. Vanya smiled a bit at the ribbing, but also looked like he was debating between telling something and staying quiet.

 “Just spill it, honey. You know you want to.”

 “It’s nothing important.”

 “Well if it’s nothing important then why can’t you tell me?”

Al would’ve felt bad for trying to pry out the secret if he weren’t getting _real_ tired of Ivan’s dodging. Given the choice, the Russian would just keep staying quiet, most likely for the rest of his life. If an interrogation was required, then Al would interrogate – he wasn’t about marry a man whose origins had zero clue of.

 “I just don’t like talking about it. Brings up bad memories – our uncle adopted us because both are parents were dead.”

Panic set in quickly, and Al backpedaled quickly from interrogating to supporting.

“Oh. _Shit_. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories!”

Al was touched that Vanya was finally talking about his parents voluntarily. It meant he trusted Al, at least a little bit. But he still hoped it wouldn’t turn into another meltdown.

 “It’s alright. It was a long time ago”, Vanya hurried to say, and it was the exact same thing he had said the first time. It must’ve been some kind of rehearsed response. Even if Vanya usually wasn’t partial to snuggles, Al felt he needed one at that moment. He wrapped his arms around to traumatized man and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips.

 “Baby, I know you still feel bad about your folks, and it’s okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t ask. And if you do want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

 “Thank you”, Vanya smiled sadly, and slipped his hands in Al’s. “But it is my problem. I will deal with it.”

 “It’s okay to ask for help, you know? Me and your sisters would be glad to help.”

 “My sisters have done more than I could ever ask for. And I couldn’t trouble you with something that cannot be fixed.”

Al let it drop, though he wanted to explain that not everything had to be _fixed_ in order to feel _better_ about it.

 

~¨:.:¨~

 

Ivan had expected to want solitude when his stress reached its peak, but surprisingly he found that Fredya’s presence felt better than being alone. Ivan felt he should have been more alarmed by the development, but he felt so comfortably contained with Fredya he found it very difficult to care about much else than the calming security. As long as Fredya was there, Ivan could not do anything stupid. At work, Ivan was controlled by Toris and Amanda, and at home he was under the watchful eye of Fredya. Safe.

Ivan burrowed into Fredya’s side, trying to make himself smaller. If only Ivan hadn’t grown up so large - was that the other one’s fault? Their mother had not been extraordinarily tall. Ivan wished he had taken after Hristina, like his sisters. She had been easy to manipulate and subdue. Ivan’s sisters showed the same traits, perhaps not as strongly, but substantially more than Ivan. And on top of that, only Ivan had been cursed with height and width. To many, it made him an impassable mountain - but to Fredya, it was a minor inconvenience.

 “Fredya?” Ivan asked quietly. The request sounded awkward even in his mind, hopefully Fredya would not mind. “Would you mind… holding me?”

 “Sure thing, babe”, Fredya said absentmindedly, his eyes glued to the flaming spectacle on the screen. There was something primal about fire, it was raw and uncontainable, like Fredya’s spirit. Perhaps that was why he was so drawn to explosions. Ivan hoped his own spirit was wood, or a drop of water, easily overcome by flame.

If Fredya’s touch was searing, Ivan could not have been happier. Unfortunately, they were both human, and the skin on both was only warm, not a scorching comfort.

 “Keep me here. Don’t let me leave”, Ivan pleaded as Fredya tightened his embrace, but not enough, his grip needed to be iron, a shackle.

 “Uh, okay?”

No normal person would ask for something like this, but it was alright. Ivan had not been normal for a very long time, and Fredya knew that better than anyone else, even better than Katyushka and Tashenka. He would never know the whole truth, or how deep to the core the strangeness went, but for this, what he knew was sufficient.

 “Tighter. You can’t let me move.”

 “Man, you have the weirdest turn ons”, Fredya laughed. “And not that I’m complaining about topping, but every now and then I’d like a big mountain of a man to fuck me in the ass.”

 “I promise I will top next time. But right now I need - I want to be under your control.”

From the way Fredya hesitated, Ivan knew he suspected the request was borne from some worrying desire. Perhaps he was thinking back to Ivan’s disastrous first time bottoming. Ivan admitted he had not really known what he had wanted in that moment, but this time there was no doubt about what he needed. He had not known he did not like being hurt - but he knew he loved being dominated.

“Mmm…. Mhm, got it”, Fredya finally said, hand patting about the couch for the tv remote. More often than not Alfred would have been upset at having to pause whatever new movie or show he had gotten into - though most shows dragged on too long for his short attention span - but the promise of a nice round of fucking outweighed his interest in the movie. The screen froze at the press of a button, Fredya leaning his head over to press a light kiss on Ivan’s lips.

“Wanna go at it right here or move to the bedroom?”

Did it even really matter? The sofa felt a little more exposed, even though obviously there was no difference. But if it was Fredya, Ivan would not mind being taken in the town square. Yes, he would have been more comfortable to have it done in private, but the fact remained - anything for Fredya. Some other time. When he would not feel as vulnerable. When Fredya would not give him the choice.

“Bedroom.”

 

*****

 

Ivan shifted his all-too large body awkwardly, hesitant to leave Fredya’s comforting grip but knowing that he would have to in order for them to continue. With a deep, slow breath he reminded himself that in no time at all he would be in Fredya’s grasp once again, and stood slowly, reluctantly leaving those strong arms. He was infinitely glad for Fredya not wasting any time to follow him. Warm hands pulled at the fabric of his shirt, strong but not insistent enough to stretch or tear. Knuckles brushed against his chest as the shirt was lifted over his head, and soon he was caught in a deep kiss again, Fredya’s tongue hot and slippery, much more flexible and pleasant than his own. It was too cold out here - hadn’t Fredya kept the thermostat up like he always did? He must have, and yet the air on Ivan’s sides felt like ice. The only comfort was Alfred himself, his golden idol, his iron god, who left their kiss with the shine of spit reflecting on his lips. It was so easy to concentrate on Fredya, he was impossible not to look at, impossible not to want, impossible not to worship.

“Keep going”, Ivan pleaded, his voice carrying a sense of urgency, insisting that this was something he desperately needed.

“Dude, I barely stopped”, Fredya breathed, wanting to laugh but too dazed to have it come out. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna leave ya hangin’.”

Hands pulled at Ivan’s, the duo making their way into the bedroom. Ivan felt the edge of the bed against his thighs, and twisted to lean back into it with Fredya’s hands slowing him down, carefully setting on the bed. He was so much stronger than he looked - when he wanted, he could hold Ivan down without breaking a sweat, each of his fingers stronger than Ivan’s whole arm, Fredya had in him the power of a small village combined.

The next few seconds were used to awkwardly move into place, fingers fumbling feverishly with buttons and zippers, tangling into each other, wrapping around the other’s, and finally working to help Ivan’s pants off and throw them in a pile somewhere on the floor. Fredya pressed his palm against Ivan’s crotch, the sudden pressure eliciting a gasp, half swallowed by Fredya’s mouth hungrily drinking in the breath before moving onto Ivan’s neck with still-wet lips, lewd, sloppy kisses turning to burning licks, careful to avoid teeth, even when Ivan’s choked moans did their best to encourage Fredya to do anything he wanted, he was in control, he was the boss.

 “I got something nice for ya tonight, boy” Fredya whispered, planting one last kiss on Ivan before moving away to pull out his “secret stash” from under the bed. When he had brought it over, he had made a big show of “hiding” it and telling Ivan he was not allowed to look in there. Specifically, he had said “Now here’s something _you’re_ not allowed to look at in this room!”, which had made it sound like Ivan had forbidden something from Fredya. What it was, Ivan could not say. Ivan had done his very best to respect Fredya’s wishes, and even knowing the box could not have anything Ivan had not seen or heard of before, curiosity had finally gotten the better of him - sleeping on top of Fredya’s dirty secrets every night had been too much to endure.

It had all the expected things - lube, a pair of leather handcuffs, vibrators, even condoms for some reason even though they had very unwisely stopped using them after their first time. Ivan had almost been disappointed, he had wished for something truly depraved - but perhaps his own mind was screwed up enough for the both of them.

Fredya took out the handcuffs and slipped one cuff around Ivan’s wrist before looping the whole thing behind his back and locking the other wrist in. He was careful not to tighten to too much, until Ivan complained. He wanted to be completely helpless, and wished the chain connecting the pieces was shorter, but since he didn’t want to end up with nerve damage, real handcuffs were out of the question. Maybe they could use a zip tie to tie together some of the metal loops to shorten the chain afterwards.

 “Wish you had a real headboard”, Fredya mumbled as he tugged on the chain. Ivan could not agree more. Fredya pulled back, teasingly stripped off his shirt and then got his glasses tangled in the shirt. Somehow he only noticed when he had already thrown the shirt to join Ivan’s clothes on the floor.

 “ _Fuck_ , those cost almost as much as my rent!” he mumbled, torn between wanting to make sure his glasses were fine and going on with the foreplay. In Ivan’s mind it didn’t matter whether the glasses had broken or not - if they were, checking them would not fix them, and if they were fine, what was the point? With a subtle cough he drew Fredya’s attention back to himself, and luckily it worked.

“Okay, okay. I’ve got ya. Play nice now, kid”, he murmured. Fredya wrapped his arms around Ivan, their bare torsos warm against each other, reminding Ivan just how much life seemed to exist in Fredya’s body, more than in the entire world despite him supposedly being only an infinitesimal part of it. The energy he gave off overshadowed the universe.

Fredya kept close, his hand reaching down again to slide across Ivan’s soft thigh and to his crotch again, palming at it with a gentleness not often seen from the American. It still provided enough stimulation though, Ivan’s breath slowly beginning to turn shakier with the sensation, which in turn allowed for Fredya’s concern to shift into more of a feeling of excitement. He finally moved his hand away to get Ivan’s boxers off, Ivan obediently lifting his hips to help.

 “You’re so fucking hot”, Fredya mumbled, taking in the sight of Ivan’s naked body while still half-dressed himself. Ivan could not disagree more, but stayed silent for Fredya’s sake. If he chose to see something that wasn’t true, that was his business. He was calling the shots, so Ivan couldn’t rebel.

A hand reached over to momentarily fumble with the lube, fingers rubbing together in a half-assed attempt to warm the slick substance. Ivan couldn’t suppress the yelp when the cold liquid hit his nethers.

 “Sorry, sorry!” Fredya hurried to apologize, but not drawing his fingers away. “It’ll get better soon enough, just endure for a bit.”

Ivan would endure, because he was not in charge. He would do anything Fredya wanted him to, even if it meant being the only one naked and slathered in ice-cold lube. Alfred’s fingers pressed against and into Ivan with about as much finesse and care as Alfred could manage in his heated state of mind. The lack of banter between them was close to the point of being off-putting, creating a false sense of peace ready to collapse with the smallest of pushes. Ivan wanted to break the peace, to be put in his place, but he feared Alfred too much, Ivan only had his legs to use and he could not control his body the way Toris could, he needed his hands to function. His hands were tied behind his back. He couldn’t fight back.

Alfred was pushing into him too much, too much and too fast, it hurt. If Alfred ever lost control of himself, Ivan had no chance of winning.

 “Feel alright?” Alfred asked.

Ivan had never felt better.

Alfred grinned like a madman and finally stood up to shed his pants, the glorious visage outshining Adonis in his prime, that aggressive gaze in his eyes blinding as the sun. Ivan was nothing if not inadequate compared to him, a silent lamb. He wanted to drink in the sight, but felt unworthy of it and so turned his eyes away. From the corner of his eye he could see Alfred approaching again, and was worried if he was going to be punished for refusing the gift.

 “Hey babe, eyes down here”, Alfred commanded jokingly. He was a benevolent god, willing to absolve minor sins, and there was a word for describing for what Ivan felt towards him at that moment - but he was not brave enough to voice it.

Ivan obediently turned to look again, and saw Fredya’s beautifully erect cock staring him in the face. He was not sure if Fredya was insinuating what he thought he was, but he doubted it would hurt to try. Shyly taking just the tip in his mouth, he gauged the reaction, not that it was hard. Fredya never made his feelings on a matter a secret - he openly moaned and his knees bucked, but he also gently pushed Ivan away.

 “I wanna be inside you”, Fredya whispered as he lowered himself to Ivan’s lap, giving him a heated kiss in the process, before guiding Ivan to lie down. Ivan almost wished his hands had been bound to the front, because he was having trouble finding a comfortable position on his back with his wrists pressing on his spine. Fredya let him wriggle for a while, hands roaming all over and tongue busy wrestling Ivan’s own.

 “I’m going in”, Fredya murmured when Ivan finally found a position he could stand for a few minutes. He pushed in slowly with a long sigh, shuddering, the sexiest being alive, while Ivan though he himself sounded like a paid whore with his loud moan and begs to keep moving. Stubbornly Fredya paused, letting Ivan wriggle around and stretch better, making quiet grunts. He couldn’t hold out for long, giving in to the urges and giving a few cursory thrusts.

 “Fredya - Fredya, just get on with it -” Ivan mewled, spurring him on. Fredya dug his nails in the soft skin and pressed in deeper, with force. Ivan was far enough gone to forget all about decency and appearances, and let his voice out loud and clear.

“God, Vanya, why do you have to be so _cute_ -?”

Ivan might have denied it had he been capable of forming cohesive sentences. He could only accept it, almost wanted to believe it for a moment. His insecurities nearly melted away anytime he was with Fredya, he made Ivan feel like he was meant for something more than just redemption, that he wasn’t a lost cause as a human, with each eager thrust he forgot to hate himself a little more.

 “Speak to me babe”, Fredya asked, voice raspy and mouth gasping for air.

 “What - what do I -”

 “Say you love me - “

 “ _Ya ne - ne khochu etogo govorit', Fredya, ne_ -”

Alfred’s movements becoming more erratic, he pushed in deeper until it felt like he was trying to dig his whole body inside Ivan, and with a violent shiver he came inside Ivan. His hand was quick to move around Ivan’s cock, helping him over the edge.

Sorry for not being able to do what Fredya most wanted of him, Ivan asked to be let out of the handcuffs so he could hug Fredya. He did so quietly, spent and glowing from the orgasm, and collapsed on Ivan’s chest. He felt so small there, like a tiny duckling, exhausted and trusting. He fit perfectly in Ivan’s arms. With both of them so sweaty it wasn’t the most pleasant feeling in the world, but neither felt like showering. The sheets could easily be done in the morning, anyway.

 

*****

 

Soon Fredya started complaining about being cold and pulled the duvet over them. He settled at Ivan’s side this time,  laying one arm over Ivan’s chest while he shifted to get comfortable.

 “It wasn’t really what you asked for, huh?” he finally asked, words slightly muffled by the pillow pressed up against his cheek.

 “No”, Ivan admitted. He had wanted a more dominating  session, but Fredya could hardly be blamed when he had been given nothing to discipline Ivan over. And in retrospect, Ivan hadn’t really felt like discipline had been needed - it could be that Fredya knew Ivan better than Ivan did, at least in some aspects. “But it was good.”

 “Thanks”, Fredya yawned, and gave Ivan a good night kiss.

Quiet comfort settled over the two. Fredya was drifting off to sleep quickly, and Ivan knew he deserved so much more than Ivan was giving him. He wanted to do right by Alfred - let him have the things he asked of Ivan, both the small ones and the big ones. He could start with not lying anymore. When Ivan had said Fredya barely knew him, Fredya had argued it was only because Ivan would not let him. He was right, of course - what Ivan didn’t lie about, he left unsaid. Fredya wanted to understand, and he couldn’t until he knew where Ivan came from - what his past was, the things he had done, the things he did now. Fredya deserved to know, even if it would drive him away.

 “Hey, Fredya?”

 “Uh huh?” Fredya mumbled, more than halfway to sleep. Perhaps it was better like that, if he was more awake he might turn this into a scene and then Ivan would never have the courage to bring it up again, no matter how fiercely he wanted to stop deceiving Fredya.

 “Earlier, when I told our uncle adopted us?”

 “Mm”, Fredya groaned, too tired to produce real words.

 “I lied a little.”

With that, Fredya woke a little more - just what Ivan hadn’t wanted. During the long silence there were few things he wanted more than to take back those words. There was no point to Fredya knowing about those things - and he wouldn’t understand any of it, even if he did. The foundations of their lives were too different, Fredya’s experiences hadn’t prepared him for how Ivan saw the world. Ivan would rather keep it that way.

 “’Kay. Was kinda expectin’ that. And?” Fredya finally said with a disappointed sigh. Ivan wanted to stop the conversation right there, but that tone compelled him to explain a little more. Why, he could not understand. It would be better for Fredya to be unaware, and he was already plenty disappointed in Ivan. Ivan was very used to being a disappointment, it shouldn’t have bothered him.

 “Only our mother was dead”, Ivan confessed, and while it _was_ the truth, he knew Fredya could sense that it was also far from the _whole_ truth.

 “Then why didn’t your dad take care of you?” he asked, and a flare of rage spiked up in Ivan.

 “Yevgeni –“ was not my dad he does not deserve to be called anyone’s father that despicable monster must burn and suffer for all -

Fredya loved his own father, he could never understand the seething contempt Ivan held for both Yevgeni and the other one. He was too happy to understand how cruel the world could be, that some people only see others as property and things. That pure worldview made him vulnerable, but he was blissfully happy in his delusions. If at all possible, Ivan would let him live that lie as long as he could, to his dying day, that would hopefully be long after Ivan was gone.

Schooling his face and voice into unflinching neutralness, Ivan continued with calculated words.

 “Yevgeni wasn’t in a good place when our mother died.”

 “Oh, depression”, Fredya said, hitting far from the mark. Ivan stayed silent. His mother was one thing - she made him feel horrible and guilty, forced him to face himself, but she was also sunlight. But Yevgeni was the rot inside him, what he could not change and what consumed him day by day, the spores infecting everyone around him, the vines tightening around their throats. Ivan could talk about his mother - he could _not_ talk about Yevgeni.

 “It’s not your fault, you know? No need to angst about it. Take your time telling me if you want, tomorrow.”

Ivan would not want to. He let Fredya fall asleep before delving into the dark crevices of his own mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poems Ivan recited are Среди миров(Among worlds) by Innokenty Annensky, and Я вас любил(I loved you) by Alexandr Pushkin. I googled Russian love poems and just happened to really really like both of these, found in the same article:D They don’t reflect Ivan’s feelings towards Al perfectly, but there are parts that work.  
> Now you can start piecing together what happened in Ivan’s childhood. The specifics won’t be clear for a while, but hints will keep dropping at a steady rate.
> 
>   _Malen'kiy podsolnukh (Маленький подсолнух): little sunflower_  
>  Lyubimiy(Любимый): darling, honey  
> Mne nuzhno vremya podumat'(Мне нужно время подумать): I need time to think  
> Spasibo. Ya sdelayu vse vozmozhnoye, chtoby poradovat' vas.(Спасибо. Я сделаю все возможное, чтобы порадовать вас.): Thank you. I will do my best to please you.  
> Ya ne zasluzhivayu tebya v svoyey zhizni, no ya rad, chto vstretil tebya. Ya nikogda ne khochu rasstavat'sya s toboy. Ya khotel by vyrazit' svoyu blagodarnost' luchshe.( Я не заслуживаю тебя в своей жизни, но я рад, что встретил тебя. Я никогда не хочу расставаться с тобой. Я хотел бы выразить свою благодарность лучше.): I do not deserve you in my life, but I'm glad I met you. I never want to part ways with you. I wish I knew how to express my gratitude better.  
> Vot klassika(Вот классика): Here’s a classic.  
> Ya ne - ne khochu etogo govorit', Fredya, ne – (Я не - не хочу этого говорить, Фредья, не -): I don’t want to say it, Fredya, I don’t –
> 
> Chapter names comes from Jotain Niin Oikeaa by Juha Tapio.


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